


Justifiable

by pan_dora



Series: Justifiable [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Stiles Stilinski, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, BAMF Lydia Martin, BAMF Stiles, Celtic Mythology & Folklore, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Lydia Martin & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, M/M, Manipulation, Nightmares, Overprotective Behaviour, Possessive Behavior, Post Season 5B, Spoilers for 6.06, Steo, Supernatural Elements, canon divergence - post season 5b, spoilers for 6.07
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-04
Updated: 2017-04-26
Packaged: 2018-09-06 07:44:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 22
Words: 134,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8740906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pan_dora/pseuds/pan_dora
Summary: “It is easier to forgive an enemy than to forgive a friend.”― William BlakeStiles and Lydia left Beacon Hills behind to start over. They are finished with the supernatural ruining their lives and try to work on their future. But the supernatural doesn't seem to be finished with them.





	1. Late Night Talking

**Author's Note:**

> The stories is currently ( beginning the 25th May 2018 ) being edited. Please excuse the jumps from present to past tense between the chapters. But I can only do so many at a time.
> 
> <3

“You’re late.”

Stiles didn’t bother turning his head. He knew who was standing beside his seat. It had been just a matter of time. If he was honest to himself, he had waited for Theo to arrive eventually. Because that’s how it was; that’s how it had been – at least until retribution had followed his actions. Theo would come to him whether Stiles needed him to or not. For whatever obscure reason, he had never stopped. Even when everything he could have possibly wanted had been within reach, Theo had turned on his heels to worm his way even further underneath Stiles’ skin.

Obviously, not even Hell could keep him.

“I never meant to come between the two of you.”

When he occupied the seat beside him, Stiles closed his eyes. He didn’t want to talk. Not to Theo, not about Scott or  _Scott-and-Stiles_ ; about what they were now and what they had used to be. He remembered a time where Stiles had been sure they would survive everything. They had walked through thick and thin together – but then the nogitsune had and gone and Allison died; and suddenly everything had changed. They couldn’t take a breather, couldn’t talk about what had happened – instead they had needed to save Derek and Scott had trained Malia, Lydia had mourned Allison. Then Liam had been turned. Malia had climbed through Stiles’ window at night and they had stumbled into a relationship Stiles still wasn’t sure he wanted. He had accepted it because it had distracted him. The assassins, Kate, the Berserkers had followed.

Then Derek had left, and the Dread Doctors and Theo had found residence in Beacon Hills. Chimera’s had started rampaging their hometown, Jordan had stolen dead supernatural creatures, Lydia had almost died and La Bête du Gévaudan had slaughtered more people than the nogitsune on its best days.

Luckily, Stiles, unlike Scott, hadn’t missed to submit his application. Stanford, Amherst, Harvard, Yale, MIT, Princeton – nothing ordinary; only the best. Lydia had made him do it, knowing the grades he had, hoping they could go to college together. But Harvard had declined, and shattered Stiles’ hopes with it. What had he been thinking? He wasn’t as smart as Lydia. He was average smart, average everything. What would a University like Harvard want with someone like him?

 _But every other University had accepted him_ _._ With a full scholarship.

He remembered his fingers shaking as he had called Lydia. She had come over immediately, pulling him into an embrace, kissing his cheek, showering him in love and pride and happiness – he had called  _only_  Lydia. They had occupied the living room, Stiles almost bursting with energy. The beast was dead, Kira was fine, Hayden survived, and Stiles had been accepted to a shit-ton of awesome universities. He had wanted to call his father, but Lydia had stolen his phone, told him to tell him in person, told him John would be so proud.

They had gone through the Universities, made lists, checked for dormitories – Lydia had mentioned switching Universities, mentioned they could live together, study together,  _start over_ together. They had listened to music and bickered and cooked a vegan meal for his father. Stiles felt  _good_.

Lydia had been right, as per usual. His father had been proud and told them over dinner that Claudia had gone to Stanford too. It had been the moment Stiles had known where he had to go; and Lydia had followed him.

First when Lydia had left, and his father had glanced at him in a peculiar way that Stiles had noticed someone missing during the festivities. But, right then and here, he couldn’t care less. His future had been in bright letter in front of him. He could make his father proud, could visit the same university his mother had been to, he could live with Lydia.

They had started over together.

During the rare moment Stiles allowed himself to let his thoughts wander, he couldn’t help but realise how the whole scenario seemed like a strange dream. Not too long ago, Lydia had neither known nor much cared about him while Stiles had the biggest crush on her. Now they were here, they were their own little pack, best friends, a family. It had been six months since then. Six very calm, very great months in Paolo Alto Stiles wouldn’t trade for anything. Six months in which Natalie, Stiles, Lydia and John had become a family, a family without blood and romance.

Stiles didn’t want his life to come crashing down around him because Theo was back. Perhaps he had expected his arrival ever since Liam had freed the chimera. But to be prepared for Theo was something else entirely; he doubted, sometimes, nothing could ever prepare anybody for his presence.

It took a long time for Stiles to reply. “I thought we’re all telling the truth now.”

A hand dropped on his back, careful and caressing. The fingers dug in a little harder, pressing against skin and bone; not hard enough to produce pain but not weak enough to completely ignore either. Stiles bolted upright because it’s Theo, he pulled away because it’s calming.

If the movement affected him, Theo didn’t show it. “Don’t get me wrong,” the chimera began, self-assurance almost palpable as he talked. “I wanted  _you_  in my pack, yet, I never intended to break up your friendship.”

Right, he’d only intended to kill him.

“Great job, Theo,” Stiles quipped. “You want some fucking reward on how marvellous you did?”

From the noise the chimera was making, Stiles assumed he rolled his eyes at him. He didn’t look at him to check if his assumption turned out to be correct. “Sometimes it isn’t about what you love but about what you need.”

And what Stiles  _needed_  was obviously Theo fucking Raeken. Of  _course_. What else could there possibly be Stiles ought to have? He’s able to write a list with things and people who were more useful to him than Theo could ever be. Lydia was high up there as well as his father, Natalie, Derek and the rest of the Hale pack. He needed his old body back,  _wanted_ his old body back. He needed to feel right again. With Lydia here, he felt like he belonged at last. She made him feel needed, wanted. She made him feel loved.

Scott had made him feel like a liability – long before he’d found out about Donovan’s death.

“You’ve changed,” Theo remarked after it became clear Stiles wasn’t going to reply to the psychological counsel. He didn’t even know what he could have said. The statement wasn’t new information or some form of miraculous cure. He had gone through enough bullshit to know he sometimes had to decide against what he craved, what he  _loved_.

Stiles straightened eventually but he didn’t yet turn to look at Theo. His mind still wanted to opt for the theory that the chimera was a sick delusion his subconscious had came up with because it couldn’t believe his life to have become  _better_ _suddenly_. It was far from perfect still, and he would have a long and bumpy road ahead of him; the nightmares only slowly became less frequent. He continued to be wary of strangers, distrusted too easily. Monsters and beasts were expected behind every corner as much as humans craving power.

In the end, it didn’t matter what his brain tried to come up with. His body knew Theo was real; and finally, he turned to look at him.

“You haven’t.”

Theo had stayed the same. His hair was still neatly styled. He still wore pink sweaters and looked ridiculously manly in them. The eyes locking with his were still exceptionally hazel, with the optional blue sprinkled in when the lightning caught them just about right – and the smirk on his lips still begged Stiles to smack it away from the annoyingly  _handsome_  face.

No, nothing had changed.

Stiles couldn’t tell if he was glad or extremely pissed off at that notion.

“You want to continue the reunion somewhere more private?” Theo smirked at him in a way that irritated Stiles more than he’d like to admit.

“Did Hell toast your brain?”

But Theo seemed so confident his words were hard to consider a bad joke. There was something sincere in the way he looked down at Stiles; the smile blooming on his lips didn’t make him look like a maniac for once. Still, Stiles had to remind himself that this was Theo – and expecting something good out of his words or actions was a dangerous territory. “Stiles-“ His names rolled too easily of Theo’s tongue. “You have to trust me.”

“ _Trust_  you?” Stiles stared at him in disbelief. “You lied and hurt- you  _killed_  people, Theo. People I care about!”

“I’ve made my share of mistakes,” Theo admitted, and he sounded as if he meant it. Believing him was so incredibly hard. “But I never lied to you. I’ve always been honest with you.”

“How was Hell?” Stiles asked not bothering to be quiet, after all, they were the only ones on the late-night bus and the driver, that much he could rely on, was too busy listening to his old music tapes. “I heard Satan doesn’t take too kindly on lying scumbags.”

Theo didn’t look hurt, he didn’t even look bothered by the statement; which was, to some extent, highly enraging. He  _wanted_  Theo to be angry at him, to give him a reason to be an asshole instead of acting like he understood the resentment – not that Stiles cared much about hurting Theo’s feelings. If he did, at least he would know the guy had some.

“You don’t understand-“

“Maybe I don’t want to understand you,” Stiles hissed.

Theo still didn’t look a little hurt or annoyed. He just sat there, expression calm and patient – as if he had expected this reaction all along, as if he  _had known_  Stiles would react this way.

“Let me explain,” Theo said after a silence dragging on and on; a silence in which Stiles clung to his anger as if it were likely to kill him as soon as he would let go. “Let me  _try_ to explain. If you still want me to go then I’ll go.”

It was a chance too good to pass, hence he accepted. “Shoot,” Stiles replied crossing his arms. “But don’t expect much.”

“Let me start with a question-“ Theo watched a young couple getting on the bus, giggling and kissing and being so aggravatingly in love- “Why are you here with Lydia?”

“What?” Stiles looked away from the couple to glance at his unwelcome seatmate.

“Okay, I’ll rephrase: Why are you here with Lydia instead of Scott?” Theo didn’t smirk although Stiles had anticipated his lips to curl into their familiar position. “Wasn’t it Scott-and-Stiles against the rest of the world forever and ever?”

Stiles rolled his eyes at the exaggeration. Still, Theo had a point. There used to be a time in which Stiles truly believed that nothing ever could come between  _Scott-and-Stiles._ They had been a unit. Truth be told, it was nothing more than memories of the past. They had begun to drift apart long before the nogitsune; and while Scott had made him feel like he had hadn’t a place at his side any longer, Lydia and Derek had carved one for Stiles in their lives. Worst part? Theo’s lie had made Stiles realise how damaged Scott and his relationship had truly been.

“She makes you feel like you belong, doesn’t she?” Theo asked with the smile Stiles had expected a while ago. “Now let me tell you a story about a boy who never belonged anywhere, not even in his own family. Let me tell you the story of a boy who was always a failure even when he was successful at something.” He sounded bitter at the memory, and for the first-time Theo seemed almost human with his fingers curled tightly around the backrest of the seat in front of him. “Then he met another boy at a skate park, who couldn’t stay on a skateboard to save his life.”

Stiles scoffed at the memory but it snuck up on him anyway. Scott and he had had their first fight that day because Stiles had wanted to go skateboarding and Scott hadn’t had any inclination of coming with him because of his asthma. So, Stiles had ended up going alone although he had accompanied Scott to the lacrosse training a few days earlier, which  _obviously_ had been less exhausting than skateboarding. It hadn’t been the only time Scott had shot him down during their friendship. Some things, however, would first become clear after ten years had passed, and a companionship ruined.

“They had gotten along great and for the first time the boy had felt like he belonged somewhere. That is, until the other boy’s best friend had come to join them.” For the first time ever, Stiles wondered if he could’ve stopped it. If he had seen Scott’s sudden interest in skateboarding as the jealousy it had been- if he hadn’t persisted that he should come, that he should meet Theo, could he have prevented the Dread Doctors from creating their first chimera? Could he have protected Tara, could he have stopped a nine-year-old boy from apathetically watching his big sister freeze to death? He pushed the thought to the back of his mind and focused on Theo’s words instead. “Although friendly, the best friend had made sure to break said connection and as the boy had gone home that day, sad and angry, he had met the Dread Doctors.” Theo tightened his grip around the backrest, knuckles turning white. “They promised to make him better.”

Stiles heard the plastic crunch under the pressure. The sound reminded him that Theo wasn’t innocent. He’d treat another person not so differently than the seat in front of him if the situation demanded it. “And you killed your sister,” Stiles added matter-of-fact. “If you are trying to score pitty-points-“

“I’m just trying to make you understand,” Theo interrupted him irritated.

The words caught Stiles off-guard, but he didn’t let it show. “Fine, your childhood sucked. Do you think mine was  _any_ better?” He merely glanced at Theo, then continues to stare out of the window. He couldn’t see anything but the bus’s interior; which was still better than the chimera’s fucking face right now. “My mother died believing I was trying to kill her. My father drank too much alcohol, neglected me. I was an outsider, a  _spazz_  – and yet I managed not to kill someone.” 

 _Until Donovan_.

“Until Donovan.”

Stiles’ heart skipped a beat. Although was aware Theo had heard it, he tried his best act unaffected. “Oh no-” Finally, he looked at the other’s reflection, catching Theo’s eye in the process. Why did they know each other so well? It didn’t make any goddamn sense. “I’m talking about hands on murder.” Not the accidental one, the one where someone fell and was impaled on a pipe after a chase in a High School’s library. “You know, the ripping somebody’s throat or intestines out kind of murder.” Because that’s what Theo did, and it’s a difference. Stiles felt bad about it. The guilt made it heart to sleep every single night. He curled his hands into tight fists. “Aaaand, this is my stop.” It wasn’t. In fact, his stop wouldn’t come for twenty more minutes. But he needed to get away from Theo, from the memories. “Crawl back into the hole Liam got you out of.” The side of his fist connected with the button, and he wriggled past Theo without daring to look it him. He didn’t want him to see.

Before he could leave, however, Theo grabbed his wrist; tight and unrelenting. For a moment, Stiles feared his bones would snap under the applied pressure. “Remember what I told you,” Theo said _oh-so-quietly_. He knew this wasn’t Stiles’ stop. He could probably tell Stiles rather had to walk around half an hour home than to continue their conversation. He was aware Stiles had straight up lied to his face - and yet he didn't do anything about it. No quip, not a single mention of his heartbeat.  

“I’m done with the crazies.” Stiles had left Beacon Hills behind for the chance of a normal life. Both, Lydia and he, had decided they desperately needed this – even if it meant to move away from their friends and families. His father most likely worried Stiles would never come back to Beacon Hills outside of a visit, which he kept to a minimum. But his dad came over as often as his work allowed. They talked on a daily basis. Stiles swallowed, still looking in the other direction. “Okay? I’m  _fucking_  done.”

Theo scoffed because he knew.

Stiles pretended he hadn’t heard him.


	2. Ever The Hunted

2 – Ever the Hunted

 

“Run- _run_!”

Lydia dashed down the narrow hallway, Stiles on her heels. His heart hammered against his ribcage. Everything had been so quiet, he had almost forgotten how it felt to run for his life. Not good enough he needed a repetition, honestly. But the knife-wielding maniac chasing them through the probably very empty University building obviously thought it’s time for a reminder. An adamant one. Stiles had never in his whole life hoped so much that the guy is nothing more than a human with a knife – and the moment you chose a possible serial killer over anything else was the moment you know your life sucked. _A lot_.

“Down, _down_!”

With help of the railing, Lydia swung herself around to sprint down the stairs. Impressive how fast she was capable of running in her heels. Stiles wouldn’t have made it two feet. Thank fuck, he was a guy whose favourite shoes were sneakers. Running turned out to be very easy while wearing them, because otherwise he’d be the guy dying first in every horror movie – virgin or no virgin. The killer would simply catch him before everyone else; he pretended another reason for an early demise would be himself heroically protecting shielding his friends from danger.

Lydia jumped the last set of stairs and used the gained distance to look over her shoulder like an idiot. Seriously. Who did that? She needed to watch a few more movies to learn how stupid that was. Her eyes widened almost comically, anything in their current situation were even remotely funny, and Stiles had the sneaking suspicion that he might be in some kind of trouble. “ _Duck_ ,” she yelled, and he followed her order instantly; although he almost stumbled down the last few steps because of that.

A knife whooshed over his head only a second later. That’s not enough distance for Stiles’ liking. It’s also the place where his head had been. Of all the things killing him, he really didn’t consider having a knife rammed in his brain would be his to leave the planet. He, too, jumped and pushed Lydia forward. They dashed through a door, Stiles always behind a few steps behind to shield her. He slammed a door shut in passing, although it probably didn’t help much. But while the guy opened the door they were gaining at least a bit of distance again.

Cutting a corner had Stiles tripping over nothing.

Lydia grabbed him by the upper arm to keep him upright.

They had to get out of here. It didn’t matter that Lydia could fight or that Stiles survived more than one encounter with an impressively pissed-off supernatural creature; they would not go up against a fucking maniac with a knife. A guy, which they knew, was one of the members of the material art teams here. Stiles didn’t need to find out how good he was, exactly.

“Where to?”

Instead of answering, Lydia manoeuvred him around another corner, through a door and into a narrow hallway lined with office after office on both sides. Immediately, they both checked every door in passing. Not a single one opened. The staff at Stanford University made sure you could not wind a place to hide from a serial killer after ten p.m. in the evening.

They should remember that for future incidents. 

An almost inhuman yell later, a body slammed into him. The collision pushed him forward. An elbow dug into his back, drilled into his spine. Stiles cried out, a mixture of surprise and pain, as his legs gave underneath him. He tried to grab for something to stay upright. But he hit the ground with the maniac on top of him, the impact forcing air out of his lungs.   

Lydia reacted quickly. She turned around, skirt following the movement perfectly. Her foot connected with their attacker’s head. A groan followed, and the weight suddenly doubled on top of him. Stiles pushed the body off and scrambled to his feet again, Lydia pulling him along as soon as he was halfway done.  

They wouldn’t be able to run away that much longer.

But, damn, if they didn’t try.

To be precise, they had just made it to the next set of stairs when Stiles was tackled. This time, the outcome was going to be a lot more painful, he realised as both their bodies tipped precariously forward. He made a grab for the railing, fingers dancing along the wood – then they fell. Lydia screamed his name in fear, unable to help him in any way. All that was left to do for Stiles was trying to protect his head as best as he could. They stumbled and fell. Stiles’ shoulder connected hard with the edge of a step, but it was his ankle he worried about after it was squashed between his attacker’s body and the stairs. After reaching the bottom of the stairs with an audible thud, Stiles was pretty sure his ankle is either broken or _very_ damaged. Running away was out of the question now. _Fuck_. The rest of his body had come together pretending to be one single giant bruise as well.

“Stiles!” Lydia screamed. “ _No!”_

Her panic made him snap back into place. Somehow, he managed to shove the guy off and roll onto his back. He could barely assess the situation as Maniac slammed the knife down. It missed his target by pure luck, only grazing his cheek. Stiles barely registered the pain or was bothered by the warm blood on his skin. Instead he tried to grab Maniacs hands or arms, something to stop him from another attack. But he didn’t get a hold of him. He brought his arms up, blocking the incoming attack. The blow connected with his arm underneath his wrist, sending painful vibrations down his bones.

A sense of Deja-vu hit him square in the chest as he struggled to get a hold, to get away. What did he do to this guy? Another blow to his arms. Why the fuck was he after him?

Suddenly, Stiles spotted the octagonal mark just underneath his jaw.

It slammed him back in the here and now. 

Stiles had killed a wendigo, a chimera perhaps, but wendigo either way. He had survived a banshee’s death scream and pushed a nogitsune out of his body. He would go after a freaky alpha werewolf mutation with a baseball bat every day.  He was not dying at the hands of this terrible brunette copy of Jackson Whittemore; he was _not_. Before Stiles could act on his newfound determination, however, his attacker flew off him and crashed into the opposite wall. Surprised, Stiles glanced at the guy then at Lydia. He was aware she could do some fancy shit with those banshee powers of her. Last time he checked, however, she needed to actually scream in order to use them.

Lydia stared past him, eyes wide in surprise and disbelief. Stiles turned his head with a sinking feeling.

And there he was, claws out, eyes burning yellow and snarling – Theo fucking Raeken.

For a moment, Stiles considered to comment on his delay. But something about looking at the chimera reminded him of something; and then it finally clicked. He could make sense of the Deja-vu. It’s the rooftop all over again. The night on the hospital as Stiles had hallucinated his mother and Josh had attacked him and Theo had swooped in to save the day like he didn’t have anything better to do than saving his ass. Maybe that was the case. Who knew with that guy? Because he continued to play the role as Stiles’ bodyguard. This time, however, Theo made short work of the attacker. Before Maniac had the even the tiniest chance to get to his again, Theo snapped his neck without any flicker of hesitation.  

Stiles winced at the sound.

Lydia looked away, eyes firmly pressed close. She had to have seen it coming and probably wondered how he’d find his demise, wondered if this would become a repetition of Donovan or something entirely else.

“Are you okay?” Theo glanced at the banshee but didn’t seem to spot anything worth mentioning. A moment later, both kneeled at his side. “Stiles,” Theo asked, and he realised the first question hadn’t been directed at Lydia in the first place, “are you hurt?”

He sat up slowly, wincing at the ache in his shoulder. His eyes flitted to the dead body, then to Theo. It took him not more than two seconds to connect the encounter in the bus to this very moment. “How _convenient_ ,” Stiles snapped knocking Theo’s hands away as he reached out, “Yesterday you promise to protect me, today I’m attacked.” The chimera had the audacity to look lost at the accusation, startled almost. Stiles ignored it. “How much money did you pay him, so you could play the hero?”

Lydia drew in a breath but didn’t say anything.

“Stiles, I didn’t-“ Theo clenched his teeth and his fists. Something crossed his face, Stiles couldn’t decipher. “I would never risk your life to prove myself to you.”

Maybe it was the pain in his body that kept Stiles from continuing the discussing. Maybe it was the sincerity in Theo’s voice. Either way, although knowing better than to trust him, he dropped the topic. Not because he believed him fully. Or, at least he was telling himself he didn’t believe a single word he said. After all, Theo hadn’t been entirely innocent in the whole encounter Stiles had had with Donovan. But something deep inside him settled against his will, a knowledge; as terrifying as waking up in the middle of nowhere with no recollection of how he had gotten there.

But he couldn’t shake it.

He couldn’t muffle the quiet voice.

He trusted Theo – at least when it came down to his survival.

Stiles would never trust Theo completely, he’d never trust him with his wishes or intentions. There was nothing that could fool him into believing Theo had something good in mind; not even after his time in Hell. Theo wasn’t capable to be _good_ – if the concept of black and white, of good and evil existed in the first place. He wasn’t capable to feel sympathy or even empathy. He was far beyond damaged, far beyond– “There is a mark,” Stiles muttered forcefully stopping his thoughts. Trying to understand Theo’s mindset might lead into his own flaws, might lead back to the question if he could perhaps be held accountable for what had happened to him, and he might realize that they weren’t as different as Stiles would like them to be; he might realize that Theo was, underneath all this cruelty, just as much human as he was. “At his neck.” He tapped the spot with two of his fingers, forcing himself to look past Theo. He’d never been this afraid to lock eyes with the chimera. “It looks like it’s burned in his skin.” A brandmark. Something he wouldn’t ever get rid of.

Stiles knew how that felt, although he carried his mark on the inside.

“We should take a picture,” Stiles continued while Lydia and Theo both look at him in silence, as if they could tell he wasn’t really concentrating on the matter at hand. “Send it to Deaton. Maybe- maybe he knows something. And do some research by ourselves.”

As he attempted to get to his feet, Lydia pushed him back down with a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll take a picture.” She cupped his cheek for a moment, fingers trembling softly against his skin. He allowed himself to close his eyes at the touch, allowed himself to be comforted; even if just for a second. When Lydia raised to her feet, he looked after her.

“We need to get you to a doctor.” Theo didn’t even glance at the guy he recently murdered. After he had killed him, he focused his attention on Stiles and nobody else. Something reassuring came with this certain kind of behaviour, something he had seen before in another person, in someone who had turned their back on an enemy like a stupid idiot; something like that, Stiles had promised himself this much, he wouldn’t take seriously another time.

And here he was, fighting a battle its start signal he hadn’t heard.

“I’m fine,” Stiles replied belatedly.

Lydia came back putting her phone in her purse. “What are we going to do about him?” Her being a banshee had hardened her. Dead bodies were a constant variable in their lives; dead bodies, violence, dismemberment, emotional and physical trauma. Their lives were a series of horrors strung together. A series of disasters waiting to happen. They were bound to get used to it somewhere along the line. Still, he hated how clinical she sounded. He despised that this was the kind of normal they had run away from only to stumble upon it in a different city.

“Call the police, tell them what happened-“

“Stiles-“ Theo interjected.

He looked at him. Finally, he dared to lock eyes with Theo. _What is it to you_? He wanted to ask. After killing so many people, why was he even afraid of the police anymore? It’s not like he expected to get caught now of all times, did he? “I will tell them-“ Stiles stopped, sorting out his thoughts. They had to call the police. They had to report this to someone. “I will tell them he attacked me, and we stumbled down the stairs.” Stiles licked his lips still staring at Theo, whose eyes flicked down for the briefest of moments. “I will tell them he broke his neck falling and you found me after.”

Lydia crossed her arms, expression calm. “We need to carry him back to the stairs then.” She still sounded too clinical.  

Stiles nodded.

Theo put a hand on his thigh, squeezing slightly. “I’ll do that,” he announced and stood up in one swift movement.

Stiles scrambled to get to his feet. Lydia wrapped an arm tightly around his waist supporting him without hesitation. Knowing his body, Stiles didn’t even try to strain his left foot even in the slightest. It would only bring pain and suffering. The rest of his body, to his utter surprise, seemed to be okay- _ish_ ; at least for having fallen down the stairs recently. His back smarted and his left shoulder hurt enough that he’s going to have some fun with it for the next couple of days.

All hail the pain killers.

Until they hadn’t found out what the fuck happened to that guy, he wouldn’t be resting.

Theo pulled the body to where Stiles had laid just a second ago. He should feel terrible about how his life had deadened his emotions. He should feel _something_ about this situation. But his mind was already occupied with the research, not the ramifications of what Theo had done. Murder should knock him for a loop. He should be devastated and repulsed by the easiness in which Theo had snapped his neck.

But he couldn’t bring himself to feel anything.

His mind was still partially stuck on that hospital, on the sound of Josh’ arm breaking, the sound of his throat being torn to shreds. Sometimes, it followed him into his dreams. Another body on his list, although he hadn’t been the one who murdered him. But he couldn’t shake it. This was a death he couldn’t fully push out of his mind. He never ceased to see the blood dripping to the floor, pooling underneath Josh who had simply fallen, almost like he had drunkenly stumbled over his own feet. But he had never reacted to hitting the ground, and he hadn’t gotten back to his feet again.

“Okay,” Theo said turning to Lydia and Stiles, “let’s do this.”

Lydia carefully shifted Stiles’ weight onto the chimera. For a moment, he wanted to struggle and complain but Theo’s grip was warm and save around his waist; his hand soft as he wrapped his fingers around Stiles’ wrist to keep him in place. The words got stuck, almost painfully – as if they clawed themselves into the insides of his throat to prevent being spilled out.

 

The police had come quickly after Lydia had given a Broadway worthy show on the phone and had continued to do so after they had arrived. They had listened to their story but had seemed incredible sceptical the whole time. Which most like hadn’t been her fault, or Theo’s, who had demonstrated the same level of acting skill as he had done when he had cried in front of Stiles’ father. He had been hysterical enough but hadn’t overdone it either. He’d let a single tear slip as he had told the policewoman and her grumpy partner that he had worried Stiles had been dead as well.

Lydia had sounded like she had still been panicking. She had gesticulated more than she would when she was calm. It had looked believable. Even Stiles had wondered how much acting had been involved in her performance.

As the police had questioned him, Stiles had been quiet. He’d tried his best, but he hadn’t been able to get rid of his apathy. A paramedic had assumed that he might have been in shock. The guy interrogating him hadn’t shown any form of sympathy. But Stiles had grown up with the sheriff of a small town. He knew when he’s being treated like a subject. It had woken him up enough to counter act, and eventually the deputy had wished him a quick recovery. Stiles had watched him closely, but the policeman had just scratched the back of his head and even helped him to get on Theo’s truck.

They had believed them.

An hour later, they had been back at their apartment. The Skype Call with Deaton had met every expectation he had had beforehand – five minutes in, Stiles had wanted to slam his head against a wall.

Supposedly, the mark was the mark of some form of entity who ordered people to hunt down supernatural creatures. The dagger Stiles had been attacked with allegedly sucked the magic out of the hunted and fed it to said entity. The mark kept the hunters alive as long as they were needed, or their maker was alive. They didn’t know whether this guy was the only one. They didn’t even know how many of those marked hunters were running around or if they could be made willy-nilly – did it need a magic spell, a séance, a sacrifice?

“So, _what_?” Stiles asked as soon as Deaton hung up on them with the promise to call them back once he had done some research. “We’ve basically fought against Jason _fucking_ Voorhees.” He paused. Lydia raised a brow at him. “Or is it more like Michael Myers?” They needed to think about that considering they had to fight and kill it. Which, if it’s one of the above, was practically impossible. He’s not thrilled. Not at all.

“You need to rest, sweetheart,” Lydia announced.

Stiles scrunched up his nose. “Wow. Rude.”

“She’s right-“

“Who asked you, fleabag from Hell?” Stiles snapped

Theo rolled his eyes. From being utterly confused, Stiles had gone back to being highly aggressive towards the chimera. Lydia noticed this particular circumstance quickly. She had yet to comment on the fact. But it seemed like she wouldn’t do until they were alone. Which Stiles was grateful for. He didn’t intend on discussing anything right under Theo’s nose; especially not when the topic of said discussion involved Theo Raeken himself.

“I’m going to get us something to eat.” Theo got to his feet, sighing audibly. “Any wishes?”

“Something that’s not poisoned,” Stiles muttered.

Lydia flopped down beside him, sighing as well. “How about some pizza?” You knew shit’s about to get real when the one and only Lydia Martin requested pizza for dinner – or rather, pizza she hadn’t prepared herself. Lydia didn’t exactly enjoy takeout unless she had deemed the restaurant as worthy. “Vegetarian. With extra cheese.” Yeah. She’s either completely exhausted or agitated. Either or. Her wanting to have pizza wass some sort of, well, cry for help.

Theo, being as stubborn as he is, looked at Stiles again.

Stiles, being as much as an asshole as he was, shrugged. “I stay by what I said.”

Groaning, the chimera left the apartment snatching Lydia’s key from the key rack as if it was the perfectly normal, and, what’s even worse, neither Stiles nor Lydia commented on it. Instead Stiles sunk further into the cushions, hissing at the pain in his shoulder and back, and propped his aching foot up on the coffee table. The only reason Lydia allowed it was probably because of his fucked-up ankle.  

“Why didn’t you tell me he’s back?” Lydia asked after waiting for Theo to get some distance. If he lounged around in his car in front of the apartment complex, he’d be able to hear every word they said.

Stiles hoped he had left.

“Because I told him to fuck off,” Stiles replied gloomily.

“He didn’t.”

“Thanks, Captain Obvious. I wouldn’t have noticed.”

Lydia didn’t even react to the quip. Instead she narrowed her eyes. “How’d he gotten out of Hell?”

Stiles glanced at her for a second. “How would I know?”

Lydia was quiet for a while and assessed him in a way that made Stiles extraordinary uncomfortable. He knew her for quite some time and had studied her even longer to tell what exactly she was thinking about right now.

“He promised to protect you.”

 _There we go_.

“Mhmmm.”

“ _He’ll come to me_ ,” Lydia said sounding as if she’d dug up a rare diamond. “That’s what you said about Theo, right?” The question didn’t need an answer. They both were well aware of it. “Why were you so sure?”

That was, in fact, a very good question. How did he know the things he knew? How did he know Theo would come to him? How did he know Theo wasn’t what he pretended to be? How did he know Lydia wasn’t the kanima? How had he recognized Derek as a teenager before Scott could by scent? How did he, how could he, how had he? It’s always nothing more than a gut feeling at first, an instinct. He just _knew_. That’s all there was to it. But this answer would never satisfy Lydia. Yet, it was everything he could tell her. “I knew.” Out loud those words sound as unbelievable as Stiles thought they would. He could see it on her face; she doubted this answer. As a fact, Stiles wouldn’t believe himself either. But he had believed Lydia; he had simply trusted her words when she had started to find dead bodies or had sensed people die.

It should count for something.

Lydia’s expression softened, almost as if she realized the same thing. “Why do you think he is here now?”

Stiles hesitated for a moment, then he told her what Theo had told him yesterday. She listened, quietly and made mental notes. That much was obvious. She wore a serious expression while listening to him and stayed quiet for some time even after Stiles had finished the story. It’s odd, now, after the words had left his own lips. He’d never told the story to anybody, he hadn’t thought about it twice. It had been a secret Theo had used as a foundation for his disgust and hatred towards Scott – everybody wanted Scott, the true alpha.

But not Theo.  

He hated Scott with every fibre of his body.

“To protect me.” The words were quiet, resigning.

Lydia nodded. “He never hurt you, did he?”

Stiles clenched his teeth. He didn’t want to talk about it, not now and not ever. But deep down he had known this day would come. “Not physically, no.” His voice had dropped to a whisper. There was still the topic of Donovan, of how the events might have turned out if the scaffolding hadn’t collapsed. Would Theo had come in to save the day? _Again_? Stiles pushed the thought to the back of his mind. “He hurt you, though.” And Scott. But Scott was a different story. Lydia, Theo had said, had been nothing more than collateral damage.

“He did,” Lydia agreed, her tone steady. There was no heat in her voice, no hate. “And he followed you to save me, although he knew it could kill him.” She hugged her legs to her chest, propping her chin on her knees. Something akin to a smile tugged on her lips. It’s an expression that made him nervous. “And he told you about your father. John would’ve been dead if not for him.”

“Don’t try to find something good in him.”

“He saved Liam and Hayden.”

“He told Scott I _murdered_ Donovan for shits and giggles,” Stiles snapped, hi temper getting the best of him. “He killed his pack for power. He-“

“Stiles,” Lydia interrupted grabbing his wrist, “how has Theo gotten out of Hell?”

“I told you,” he replied agitated. “I don’t know.”

“ _Stiles_.”

He didn’t look at her. The truth wanted to bubble out of his mouth. He wanted to tell her, had wanted to tell her for a while now. But he hadn’t, and he didn’t plan to do so. Partly because he had never expected Theo to come stumbling back into his life. After everything that had happened, Stiles was sure the chimera would leave and never come back – find another city he could ruin, another pack he could tear apart, another friendship to destroy.

“Did you-“ She stopped, hesitating, and Stiles flinched. _She knew_. She knew exactly what Stiles had done. Although he was sure his plan had been fool proof. Nobody would have expected it to be him who freed Theo from Hell. Why would they? Stiles was the one who never hesitated to tell the world how much he distrusted Theo, how much he disliked him. Nothing pointed in his direction.  

All too gently, Lydia’s fingers curled around his chin and she moved his head until they locked eyes. The highly anticipated resentment was replaced with an understanding Stiles didn’t think he deserved. “You freed him, didn’t you?”

He nodded.

Yes, he had freed Theo out of his prison of flesh and blood and bones. More nights than he would like to admit, Stiles researched in books and dug through countless of pages online. He had tried to tickle some answers out of Deaton. And when he had found _the_ answer, Stiles had called Liam; little, easily impressionable Liam. He couldn’t have faked a reason for his return to Beacon Hills, however short the stay would have been. Lydia would’ve figured it out immediately. He couldn’t lie to her just as much as she couldn’t keep the truth from him. They didn’t need supernatural hearing to notice when the other was lying through their teeth; and since he hadn’t been able to leave the Palo Alto without drawing attention to himself, Stiles’ only way of archiving his goal had been Liam. Manipulating him had been as simple as learning the multiplication tables. Of course, Stiles felt guilty about having used the beta. Liam was a friend, a good friend. And for some unknown reasons, he had been concerningly attached to Stiles for quite some time; even more after Scott had refused to give Hayden the bite in order to save her life. Liam _trusted_ him.

Stiles used that trust to guilt trip him into freeing Theo. _God_ , the circles of Hell waiting for him when it would be his time to leave this earth.

“Why?” That’s the million-dollar question, wasn’t it?

“Theo did horrible things and he deserves to pay for them.” Stiles clenched his teeth again as a familiar spark of anger manifested deep inside him. “But not like this.” Saying it out loud opened something Stiles had closed very tightly for far longer than he had realized. “I don’t know how he could make up for it, I really don’t. But why does he deserve Hell and Deucalion can run free, _twice_?” Disgust seeped into his voice. Lydia widened her eyes in astonishment. “Deucalion killed Erica. He ordered to kill Boyd _on Derek’s claws_. He was the one who talked Theo into killing his pack in the first place – and Scott let him go. Why? Why did Scott let him go? Why does Deucalion deserve to be nothing more than exiled, but Theo had to go to Hell?” Lydia didn’t say anything. She listened – and for the first time, Stiles realised how desperately he needed someone who just listened to him rant and rant and _rant_. There were so many things he needed to get of his chest. But he’s not going to talk about all them today. “By Scott’s logic, Deucalion belongs as much in Hell as Theo did.” Stiles relaxed as he spotted a small nod. He didn’t know if she agreed but at least she understood what he’s going for. “Or does Theo belong in Hell because he attacked Scott himself?” He closed his eyes for a moment, took a deep breath. “Was it his tender ego? I told him to be careful and, in the end, he was _oh-so_ hurt because Theo fucked him over.” He didn’t understand. He really didn’t. “Theo needs therapy, not eternal torture.”

“I should’ve stopped it.” Lydia’s voice was so small he had barely heard her.

Stiles shook his head. “You couldn’t have done anything. I don’t even know if I can blame Scott – but-“ He stopped again, carefully choosing his next words. But, but, _but._ It’s always a but with Scott. “How am I supposed to trust him when he stampedes over us with finished decisions like bringing Deucalion in the picture? How am I supposed to trust him when he believes a stranger’s story over his best friend’s?” Stiles clenched his hands into fists. “He could’ve stopped Kira if he wanted to.” Could he have? Maybe he couldn’t have. Still, at this point it didn’t matter.

There had been other betrayals.

Other let-downs.

Things Stiles was painfully aware of since his and Scott’s relationship had crashed and burned.

“Maybe we should give him a chance.”

“Maybe it’s exactly what he is waiting for.”

Lydia grabbed his hand, squeezing tightly. “I trust you, Stiles,” she said, and she sounded _so_ sure about what she was telling him. “I always have, and I always will. If, after this case, you still want him gone, I won’t stand in your way.” She set him a fucking point in time limit until Stiles had to make a final decision? Why did he have to do that? Why couldn’t they discuss this together? Theo’s presence had an impact on her life, too. It’s not just he who was affected by it. “But, perhaps, you are right, and he needs therapy. Then a first step is someone who cares for him, someone he trusts without a single doubt.”

“And that would be _me_?” Stiles couldn’t help but snort out a laugh. “I don’t care about him.”

“You saved him from Hell,” Lydia reminded him.

“He doesn’t know that!”

As the door opened, Stiles’ stomach dropped. Theo stood in the doorway, pizza in one hand and keys to the apartment in the other. His expression was unreadable. But Stiles didn’t need a codebook to decipher the look on his face.

He’s heard what they were talking about.

Theo knew Stiles was the one setting him free.  


	3. The Unexpected Everything

Theo didn’t say anything. Instead he presented the pizza, flopped down on the couch beside Stiles and munched on a slice. The worst is, Stiles knows Theo has heard. It shouldn’t bother him, he shouldn’t care. But for some reason, Stiles has never wanted Theo to know who freed him. He was okay that Liam was the guy who slammed Kira’s sword in the ground. He was okay that Liam was, in Theo’s eyes, the little beta who opened the door to his prison.

“So,” Stiles mumbles around his own bite of pizza, “How do we find this whimsical magic-eating creature?”

Lydia hums.

Theo shrugs.

Neither seems very helpful.

“Can you sniff it?” Stiles glances at Theo, who raises an eyebrow at him. The fact that he acts perfectly normal drives him coocoo bananas crazy. That’s untypical behavior. Theo _never_ shuts up when he has the chance to get under Stiles’ skin.

“Maybe,” Theo inclines his head to look at Stiles, “But I would need something with its sent.”

“We don’t even know _what_ it is,” Lydia tosses in, “It’s all just a theory.”

She is right. Deaton couldn’t tell them anything (or wouldn’t, you never know with that guy). This entity can be everything, from a gaseous creature to a human. The possibilities are endless. Without any kind of clue, they don’t have a starting point. They need a lead to do something. As it is right now, they can only wait for the inevitable – knife-wielding maniac to wake up again, get his knife (slash everything in his wake) and come to find them. They would fight him, kill him and wait until the game starts all over again.

“We don’t even know where the undead guy is,” Theo adds to their list of problems.

Stiles drops his slice on the dish in front of him. This is exactly why he hates being involved with the supernatural. Well, additionally to the pain and terror and gore. But after the nogitsune, the Dread Doctors and the French Beast there isn’t a lot what can truly shock him anymore. The prospect of not knowing what they are fighting is frustrating, especially since death and destruction will lay on its path. It’s hard to imagine that knife-wielding maniac will be walking out of the morgue without causing a scene.

This isn’t Beacon Hills.

This is Palo Alto. Nobody here probably knows the Boogeyman is real and not just a story to creep out little children. If you don’t eat your dinner, something might potentially jump out of the closet and snatch you out of your bed and drop you into the abyss for punishment. After everything Stiles has seen, he won’t be surprised with anything anymore – and he sure will prepare his own children for the worst.  

Maybe he should consider having children with a supernatural creature. Just to give them that little bit of extra advantage – or never have children in the first place.

“This is fucking pointless,” Stiles mutters.

Lydia clicks her tongue. “Maybe we should call Deaton again.”

“Maybe we should,” Theo agrees.

“Okay-” Lydia measures Stiles with a very long glance, then flicks her eyes to Theo- “How about- I call Deaton and you do your thing?”

“My thing?”

Lydia gestures in the direction of the laptop. “ _Research_ , Stilinski,” She says getting to her feet, “Everybody comes to you to find the truth.” The way she stresses the word _truth_ makes him squirm. He doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like it at all. Because Lydia will call Deaton, yes, but she will go to her bedroom to do so and with that leave Stiles and Theo on their own.

“He said he’ll call us,” Stiles insists.

“Well, I can’t wait that long.” Lydia flicks a strand of hair over her shoulder, eyebrow raised and lips pursed.

Stiles attempts to get to his feet. Theo grabs his thigh and keeps him very much seated.

Lydia points at Stiles. “Research.” And with that word, she whirls around – elegant as per usual – and heads for her bedroom.

Stiles breathes in deep, lets the silence sink in and tries his hardest not to freak out. He’s never been nervous when being alone with Theo. After all he decided to sit around in a car in front of Deaton’s clinic for forever, met him in the middle of nowhere and ran with him through the sewers searching Lydia. But that was under different presuppositions. During that time, nobody doubted Stiles’ feelings and mindset towards Theo, who said it himself: _You hate me now_ (but you’ll get it eventually. Stiles still wonders what exactly he is supposed to get eventually).

Pushing his thoughts away, Stiles wants to grab his laptop. But before he can reach it, fingers curl tightly around his wrist. Freezing, he turns to look at Theo only to find that he is already looking back at him. For what feels like an eternity, they don’t do anything but stare at each other. It has been a long, long time since Stiles thought time might curl and stretch around him, keep him in place and push him someplace far away. This twisted pain of something he cannot give a name to, something right and something wrong, something rotten and something new.

Theo is everything Stiles needs to stay away from.

Because Theo is a trigger to what Stiles wants to keep buried.

“We need to-“

“You saved me,” Theo says.

Stiles presses his lips into a thin line. He doesn’t want to talk about it. This isn’t even a big deal (it is, at least for him and probably for Theo). This stupid chimera isn’t even supposed to know about it. Because knowledge like this will lead Theo to false assumption on which he might base his future decisions. All Stiles wants is for Theo to leave the city, state or, even better yet, the country. For a whole bunch of reasons which are not entirely founded on distrust and dislike.

“We have to stop a killing spree, okay?” Stiles tries to free his arm but all Theo does is tightening his grip in response, “I don’t want to know how you feel about walking the earth again, asshole.” Being rude won’t help his situation, it will only make things worse. Because the more aggressive Stiles becomes towards Theo, the more the chimera thinks he is in the right. It wasn’t only obvious during their stake-out in the car. The moment he punched Theo hard enough that he went down, the guy was more excited than a kid in a toy store with a 100$ voucher. So, insulting him probably isn’t the best idea.

Theo narrows his eyes. “You have to answer me eventually.”

“I don’t have to do _shit_!”

“Why saving me when you couldn’t care less in the end?”

Stiles startles at what sounded like vulnerability in Theo’s voice. He’s heard him fake a lot of moods, he’s heard him act like an innocent kindergartener in front of Scott. If Stiles hasn’t distrusted Theo from the very beginning, maybe he would’ve believed him too. What he is trying to say, although the vulnerability threw him of guard, Stiles cannot one-hundred percent be sure Theo really means it or feels it or, whatever really.

“Maybe I ca-“

Lydia bursts back into the room. “We have a problem.”

 

Apparently, the three sons of the Celtic goddess of evil magic Carman are roaming since forever, looking for a way to bring back their dead mother. Dub, Dother and Dain have found a way to steal the magic of sparks or witches or emissaries – basically every creature that wields magical powers with the cursed dagger that was supposed to be rotting in a box somewhere in the evidence room of the local police station.  So, as soon as Dub, Dother or Dain had woken up, they grabbed the knife and kept on hunting.

And if that wasn’t already bad enough, their target was Deaton of all people. Of course, he requested their help. Stiles was very adamant about not going back to Beacon Hills but Lydia basically forced him to. While Theo did some research on the dagger, Lydia called Kira to update her on the newest events and ask for her help. Stiles called Liam to prepare the poor beta for what is about to happen (he muttered something about that not being part of the deal). Then Stiles called his father to make him promise not to shoot Theo, that he vouched for him and would shoot the chimera himself if he dared to fuck shit up.

Three hours later and in the middle of the goddamn night, Stiles and Theo are driving back to Beacon Hills while Lydia will pick up Kira in the morning. After the kitsune passed her tests to the skin walker’s satisfaction, she went to a community college a couple towns over. She, as well as Lydia and Stiles, had decided that Beacon Hills isn’t for her and left.

If the girls don’t sit in traffic, they will arrive at Beacon Hills tomorrow early afternoon.

To Stiles’ surprise, Theo hasn’t tried again to figure out why he has saved him. Instead Stiles fell asleep a couple miles outside town and Theo didn’t attempt to wake him. His sleep was neither relaxing nor long and he woke up around half an hour away from Beacon Hills. But it was better than nothing, probably.

“What time is it?” Stiles asks yawning.

Theo glances at the clock on his dashboard. “Three thirty-six,” He replies in a voice heavy with sleep.

“You okay with driving?” It’s not that far but they can make a break, just in case.

“What’s the alternative?”

 _Touché._ “Just make sure you’re not going to kill us.”

Theo glances at him out of the corner of his eyes. “I won’t,” He says in a way that Stiles doesn’t doubt him.

Still, “We could stop. There’s a nice 24/7 coffee shop a mile or so down.”

Theo glances at him again. There is something in his expression Stiles cannot quite decipher. It’s not annoyance, not really. It isn’t amusement either. Whatever it is, Theo keeps it hidden. “I’d rather sleep at your father’s.”

 

Sleep is the key word here. As soon as Stiles’ had prepared the sleeping mat in his old bedroom, Theo collapsed onto it. He refused to wear something of what Stiles left behind and curled underneath the blanket, immediately asleep. Since his father was working, he quickly texted that they’ve arrived. His father replied that he’ll bring breakfast in the morning.

The sun is already rising, Stiles has given up on sleep long ago, as a noise startles him out of the research he is currently doing on his phone. He didn’t risk getting out his laptop because he didn’t want to wake Theo. He’ll let him sleep as long as possible so Stiles can think about what to do with him. If he stays, and that’s kind of a very big if, there have to be rules. But he’ll have to talk with Lydia about it. This is a decision he cannot make alone.

The noise he heard repeats. Now, Stiles can identify it. It’s a whine, small and quiet but all too loud in the silence of his old bedroom – and it comes from the floor.

Furrowing his brows, Stiles flips on the light on his night stand and drops his phone. At a more adamant plea to stop from Theo, Stiles rolls onto his stomach to glance down at him. The picture presenting itself to Stiles is a familiar one; although he has never seen himself during a nightmare, he knows Theo doesn’t look any different than he would – minus the very sharp claws burying themselves in the blanket.

For a second, Stiles hesitates. The thought of letting Theo sleep crosses his mind. After everything he had done, it deserves him right that his wrongs turned into nightmares to haunt him as soon as he closes his eyes. But Stiles experiences firsthand the cruelty of one’s very own mind.

He reaches out and carefully shakes Theo. “Hey, wake up.”

Theo bolted upright before the words have fully left his mouth. Stiles barely manages to flinch out of reach of very sharp and very dangerous claws. He can feel their whiff just millimeters away from his throat. Even barely awake the chimera is awfully accurate when it comes down to killing people.

“ _Theo_ ,” Stiles hisses slapping his hand away.

The chimera blinks in obvious confusion, then shakes his head. “My sister,” He mutters so quietly Stiles almost hasn’t heard it, “I just- she was- where is she?”

Stiles opens his mouth but stops. _His sister._ Although Scott told Stiles what has gone down shortly after their fight against La Bête, he’s never really given a thought to what has pulled Theo into Hell or what he experienced down there – he’s never asked either. It was a book he finished and threw in the corner of his room never to be picked up again. Now that Theo mentions his sister, Stiles feels pretty stupid. Of _course_. No matter what happened, Theo loved his sister one way or another.

“She’s not here,” Stiles replies carefully choosing how to phrase what he is about to say, “She died, remember? Back when you were little.”

Theo doesn’t look convinced. Instead he looks around the room, obviously trying to find his bearings. It seems as if he’s still more asleep than awake.

Stiles watches him in silence. Considering their relationship, there isn’t anything he could do about it anyway – and if he’s being honest, he’s not even sure what he would say if they were friends, He’s never been good with words. Apparently, he’s more the guy who gives quiet comfort. Sometimes with an embrace, other times with a hand on somebody’s shoulder, depends who he is with. But even that wouldn’t feel right with Theo. So, he just sits here awkwardly, waiting for something to happen.

Eventually, Theo looks at him again. “Thanks.”

Stiles blinks. “What?”

“For saying she died.” _And not that you watched her freeze to death_.

A second silence falls upon them. Mostly because Stiles doesn’t know how to handle Theo like this. Everything he knew – or rather, everything he made himself believe he knows – about Theo is now slightly out of proportion. It was so much easier to look at him and see evil in its purest form. An exaggerated view for someone who doesn’t believe in good and evil. The world cannot be separated in black and white. There a too many shades of grey, some darker than others. Theo’s shades are astonishingly dark, but still – he’s saved him more than once and for what it matters, Stiles is grateful for that. He also found his father, although he’s made a game out of it.

Maybe Hell was a path Theo needed to step on in order to grasp the beginning of redemption.

Maybe Theo isn’t broken behind repair.

“Do you-“ Stiles stops waving his hand awkwardly around- “Do you wanna talk about it? The nightmare, I mean.” Not Hell. Especially not Hell. “I’m an expert when it comes to nightmares.”

Theo is silent for a moment. Then, slowly inclining his head towards the window, he says, “Your father’s back.”

Stiles understands a no when he hears one.

 

Theo is looking at his bagel quietly while Stiles gives his father a quick summary on what happened last night and what he has (probably) figured out. He hasn’t taken a bite which both Stiles and his father notice. Briefly, he wonders if it is because of the nightmare or because Theo distrusts John as much as John does Theo. As far as Stiles is concerned, they don’t need to become best friends for life but it would be helpful if they at least tolerated each other to a point where they don’t have to worry about getting fucked over; especially since Theo acts as Stiles’ personal and very lethal bodyguard. Although his motives are probably anything but pure, Stiles will use Theo’s questionable protective behavior to his advantage as long as possible.

“When do we meet with Liam?” Theo asks eventually voice void of emotion. Mostly, he sounds like all this is a big waste of his precious, precious time.

Stiles rolls his eyes towards him. “What?” He asks, “You’re missing him already?”

There is a hint of anger on his expression, ever so fleeting like a gust of wind. Something you’d only notice if you were looking for it. “I want to kill _them_ before they gather enough power to hurt you even worse than they already did.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Stiles sees his father’s expression do something exceptionally complicated. John agrees with Theo but as it seems he’d rather bite his tongue off than say it out loud. Stiles knows the feeling. Still, against a goddesses’ three sons they need every help they can get; even if said help comes from Theo.

“How can we kill them?” John asks changing the subject quickly.

Stiles scratches the side of his nose. “We’re not quite there yet,” He confesses.

John sighs sipping on his coffee, sugar-free, just like his breakfast. Briefly, Stiles wonders if his diet truly is as healthy as he makes it out to be. Maybe he should make good use of Theo and ask him to keep his nose on the food in the house. Perhaps he’d sniff out something Stiles will have to throw in the trash.

Wouldn’t be the first time.

“You know what I don’t understand?” Theo asks obviously not wanting an answer.

But Stiles can’t help himself. Beacon Hills brings out the worst in him. “Social norms,” He pipes up unable to keep his mouth shut, “the concept of self-defense, guilt, empathy.” He cocks his head, mockingly acting as if he has to think deeply. “Algebra.”

For a moment, Theo looks as if he wants to smack him. “Why did they attack you and then just leave?” Theo wonders out loud. “And I had a B in Algebra,” He adds as if the jab to his intelligence has been the biggest insult.

That boy has so many problems, Stiles doesn’t even know where to begin.

“Maybe they found a greater source of power,” John muses, “You said they need magic?”

“And a vessel,” Stiles says out loud before he could stop himself. At the horrified look John shoots him – the flashbacks to the nogitsune taking up residence in Stiles’ body present on his face – Stiles adds, “I _guess_. Maybe Dick, Dumbass and Dipshit can bewitch their mom’s skeleton.”

John doesn’t seem particularly convinced.

“Maybe that’s why he stopped attacking you-“ Theo raises a brow at Stiles who kicks his shin under the table with enough force that the chimera jolts.

John lifts both hands in faked resignation; the terror is evident in his voice and his slightly trembling fingers as he points at Stiles. “If you get possessed by a century old spirit one more time I will lock you up for the rest or your life.”

“Thanks, dad-“ Stiles pats his father’s arm, “But I doubt a woman will consider my body fitting.”

“Beggars can’t be choosers,” Theo says glancing at his bagel again.

Stiles considers kicking him again. “Do all of Hell’s mutts bite the hand that feeds them or is that just you?”

Theo gives him a smirk, cocky and self-assured, the sparkle back in his eyes. Stiles isn’t quite sure he likes it that way. For some reason he found it far more appealing as Theo acted like he was at least a little traumatized by what happened to him.

“Look, I don’t like you, Theo,” John says sounding as if this very sentence is the understatement of the century, “But as long as you keep my son alive – and as long as Stiles vouches for you, I will play nice.” He points at the untouched food on Theo’s plate. “For the love of God, _eat_. If I find out my son got hurt because you lacked nourishment I will sent you back to your maker.”

“I’m an atheist,” Theo responds easily.

Stiles shoots him a narrow-eyed look.

With the cocky smirk still plastered to his mouth like a disgusting leech, Theo bites into the bagel.

 

“Why do I feel like we’re drug dealers?” Stiles wonders aloud glancing around under the seam of his hood. It’s pouring since they finished breakfast and the sky doesn’t seem to loosen up its clouded jacket.

Theo shifts beside him. “You look like a rebellious teenager more than anything,” He replies looking at Stiles then shaking his head. Fascinating, how almost sixteen hours spent with Theo Raeken make the guy a little less unbearable than before. It’s probably because they are stuck together until this supernatural clusterfuck is over. Theo knows that, so he doesn’t have to prove over and over again that he is good for Stiles.

Stiles measures Theo with a glare, then checks his watch. Liam should come any moment now. It’s _so_ stupid anyway, that they hide at the edge of the forest to talk to the beta. But Stiles doesn’t want Beacon Hills to talk about him coming back with Theo Raeken instead of Lydia Martin. He’d rather wait for her and Kira to make his grand entrance. Also, he doesn’t want to get Liam into unnecessary amounts of trouble. If Scott finds out what happened, he won’t be happy. Stiles will take the blame, after all he made Liam do it, but therefore Scott shouldn’t find out about it _before_ Kira and Lydia are here. Best case would be, they have talked to Deaton before Scott knows why they are here but this scenario seems highly unlikely considering Scott works at Deaton’s until he can apply for a college again.

Theo stiffens beside him. Stiles follows his glance. Liam is coming towards them with Mason – both the boyfriends of the last remnants of his old makeshift pack; the survivors’ grooms, so to speak. At least he has the decency to act as if that would make him feel uncomfortably.

And… “ _Isaac_?”

The werewolf grins at Stiles, reassuring him that nothing has changed and he is still the little shit he’s been since Derek turned him. Good to know. “Hey, Stiles.”

“Still into scarves I see.”

“Still into trouble I guess.”

They look at each other for a long moment, assessing and measuring. Then Isaac throws an arm around Stiles’ shoulders. “I have to admit,” He say easily, “I kind of missed your snarky attitude, pal.”

“And I your fake American accent,” Stiles shoots back.

“Why do you look like drug dealers?” Liam asks instead of a greeting.

Mason looks from Isaac, to Stiles and then to Theo. “Intense,” He says for some godforsaken reason Stiles is not going to question.

Theo rolls his eyes with an audible groan.

“Who’s that punk?” Isaac inquires stepping away from Stiles to get a better look at Theo, “His scent is funky.”

At the low growl, Stiles pushes Theo a little away from Isaac – just to be sure. They don’t need any more trouble than they already have. “That’s-“ Stiles stops midsentence and looks at Theo who is already looking back at him daringly- “Theo. Listen, it’s a long story.”

Isaac frowns. “Has it something to do with why Scott isn’t an alpha anymore?” He asks.

“ _What_?” Stiles and Theo exchange a glance but while he is completely taken by surprised, Theo seems as if he’s just found his favorite candy. “Why isn’t Scott an alpha anymore?”

Liam shrugs almost unbothered by the whole endeavor. “I don’t know,” He replies then with something akin to guilt hiding in the masked casualty of his voice. “Happened shortly after you and Lydia left.”

Mason nods as Stiles kooks at him for answers.

“His timing _sucks_.”


	4. In His Wake

“I’m very confident that this is a terrible idea.”

Isaac looks as if he couldn’t agree more. Sitting cross-legged on one of the counters, he scowls at Deaton. They never really warmed up to one another, which is something Stiles can very much relate to. The veterinarian is one peculiar guy.

Kira, who keeps on glancing in Theo’s direction as if she expects him to rip her throat out – the chimera killed for less, granted, so her worry is reasonable (Stiles reminded Theo very adamantly that if he makes a single move which could be interpreted as a threat, he will punish his sorry ass) – eyes Deaton skeptically.

Lydia crossed her arms and purses her lips. Something wary hides in the edge of her features. Stiles understands her. The last time Deaton had offered this kind of help, Allison almost shot her in the head, Scott lost control of his werewolf powers and Stiles invited the nogitsune in. Neither of them seems to trust Deaton this much – but he’s their only way of figuring shit out.

Theo seems tense as he watches Stiles shifting from foot to foot in the middle of the room. His gaze feels heavy, which is the reason Stiles has the need to glance at the chimera now and then. It makes him nervous that Theo isn’t fully on board with the whole thing; not because he necessarily trusts his decision-making abilities. Theo is so hard trying to keep him alive, he’d block everything out that might kill Stiles. If there is even the slightest chance of Stiles getting eviscerated, he’d stop it.

But Theo doesn’t say anything.

Let’s hope he’s not wrong.

“And that five-fold knot is doing what again?” Stiles asks looking on the ground – more for stalling than information. He’s standing in the middle circle; and he’s not liking it. He does remember that it enhances the power of a darach. But they didn’t kill any virgins, teachers or doctors. Besides, it’s probably not the smartest idea to use Celtic symbols while Celtic wizards are making their way downtown.

“It strengthens your connection to the nemeton,” Deaton replies, “First and foremost.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Can you _stop_ that?” He hisses twirling around to properly look at Deaton.

“Stop what?”

“Answer questions but then saying something that evolves in more questions!”

Deaton doesn’t even flinch at his angry tone. “The other purposes are irrelevant in our current situation,” He answers evenly then gestures for the others, “If you please.”

Lydia and Kira exchange a quick glance. They came here for answers to their questions, not for an experiment. Deaton said himself that it _might_ not work. A nemeton is protective of its guardians, of people it is connected to. Stiles has to make sure the nemeton understood they don’t come to harm but to help. Which is the first problem. He’s terrible with words. But whoever sparked the nemeton’s power last night is in serious danger of getting drained, murdered and dropped on the street like yesterday’s newspaper.

Stiles isn’t sure he speaks whimsical tree.

Isaac wears his scowl like his scarves, excessively and noticeably. “This would be easier with a proper pack,” He says because everything supernatural is easier with a pack you could rely on. Sometimes, you have to take what you can get; even if one of the goodies is Theo Raeken. 

“It would be easier with an alpha,” Deaton agrees solemnly. It’s the closest they have gotten him to talk about Scott. He _has to_ know why Scott lost his True Alpha powers. Deaton knows everything; the only problem with him is offering the information in a language not-Deatons understand.

As Theo, Kira, Lydia and Isaac have settled on their assigned spots around Stiles, Deaton nods. “Don’t get distracted,” He reminds him retrieving the amulet from the counter behind him, “Don’t go to deep.” Stiles nods, anxiously shifting again. “As for the others, if you sense something wrong, pull him back immediately.”

Theo curls his lips into a grim line.

Deaton throws the amulets to Stiles. He catches it clumsily; it is slipping through his fingers a couple of times. It’s heavy in his hand, a burning sensation against his skin. But instead of dropping it, Stiles closes his fingers around the gold, thumb tracing the symbol engraved in it.

He glances at Lydia, who smiles at him, small and worried.

Stealing himself, Stiles closes his eyes.

There is a whisper in his ear, a hand on his back. Fingers ghost over his cheek, his lips and jaw. The hand cups the side of his neck, the other tightens a grip on his hip. There is breath on his lips. But the breath turns to a gust of rotten wind and the fingers become knives, sharp and lethal. The whisper becomes a scream.

Stiles opens his eyes – and recoils at the sight in front of him.

He was here before. _Twice_.

The room he is in is white. The walls, the floor, the ceiling. The pillars that keep the room from crashing in. Tiles in a regular pattern – one lighted, three not – in the ceiling act as a source of light. The room is empty now. There are no tubs filled with water or the stump of a nemeton anywhere. No doors. Just white. _Everywhere_.  

Stiles is a blotch of color in this space, a pool of blood in a field of white tulips. As he takes a step forward, the floor cracks underneath his bare feet. A warning.

“I want to help.” His voice is a scream in the empty silence of the room.

He steps forward again. The floor cracks, louder now.

“Please,” He pleads trying to get the nemeton’s attention this way. He doesn’t know how to do it otherwise. There is no ‘Talking to Nemetons 101’ written. Nobody made a goddamn YouTube video: ‘My talk with the Nemeton’. All he can do is reason, plead, ask – something along these lines – and hope for the best. “Show me; who are they after?” The cracking gets louder, almost deafening. He sees a pillar slowly breaking apart. “We want to help!”

The pillar gives way and tiles are starting to crash to the floor.

Stiles scurries backwards in a blind panic, flailing as his back hits a wall that hasn’t been there before. “Who is in danger?” The ceiling is falling, coming down in ragged bits and pieces. They crash to the floor. Black liquid is oozing out of holes in the ceiling. Big drops drip down, covering the floor. The room is filled with the scent of something that has been lying here since long after its expiration date.

“ _Please_.”

Everything explodes in a cascade of brilliant white. Stiles brings his arms up to protect his face expecting to be ripped out of this place by one of his friends – but nobody comes, nobody pulls him out of here.

Slowly, he lowers his arms.

Stiles is still in the white room but its walls are tainted now, dark-red and black lines twist and wind around each other, creating abstruse patterns.

He isn’t alone now either.

On the other end of the room is a shadow, dark as a monster. Whoever it is seems to be about his height, give or take a few inches. It’s hard to make out in the distance. The shadow doesn’t move at first, just stands there. Stiles couldn’t even tell if he or she is looking in his direction. But he needs to know who that is. Maybe that is the person they must protect.

Eventually, the person raises their hand and beckons him to come closer. 

Stiles dares to move towards them, one step at a time. This time, the floor holds his weight. He keeps a slow pace, however. His experience with the nemeton made for more trust issues way beyond what could be considered a healthy amount. So he is not risking to be careless. It could be lethal.

The shadow lowers his hand just as Stiles has crossed the half-way point. It cocks their head to the side then raises its hand again. This time pointing at something behind Stiles.

Something shatters. Someone screams. He swirls around, slipping in something wet and falls. The impact is hard enough to force the air out of his lungs.

Groaning, he shakes his head. As he opens his eyes yet another time, Stiles all but screams as he gets to his feet in a hurry. Donovan is displayed right in front of him, impaled and dead. But he looks at him. And his eyes are wide with accusation.

_You did this._ A voice inside his head whispers cruelly. _You killed me._

A figure dressed in black appears behind Donovan, who slowly lifts himself off the pole. The wet sound is nauseating and Stiles stumbles back, almost slipping again. _On blood_. Stiles realizes as he looks down. There is so much blood. And he is covered in it.

“You killed me, Stiles.”

His head snaps up. “Allison-“

She looks like the last time he saw her, pale and bloody and dirty, a skewed version of Snow White with too red lips and a fight lost against the Huntsman. There is an open wound where the blade went in and ripped her open.

“You killed me, Stiles.”

Aiden materializes beside her, claws out. Black blood drips from his chin on his clothes and the floor, it runs out of his mortal wound. His eyes are steel blue.

_You killed all of us._

More and more people appear out of this air, people the nogitsune slaughtered. Because he was weak. Because he couldn’t stop it.

Stiles is the reason all those people are dead.

But front and center stands Donovan. Silver and red seep out of the hole in his body, out of his mouth which he opened. His face looks like a grotesque mask, the angles and edges all wrong. Teeth where there shouldn’t be. As he moves, Donovan is a deformed mess of crunching bones and dead muscles.

“You should join as here, Stiles.” Aiden says grinning.

Allison mimics his expression. “Yes, Stiles. Join us.”

Suddenly, Donovan leaps forward. With a yelp Stiles jumps backwards barely avoiding the attack. The faint rotten scent hits Stiles square.  He turns around and careens to the other side of the room. The people, the dead bodies, move out of his way as he screams at them and pushes past and-

“Stiles!”

He yelps and spins around. Lydia looks at him, eyes wide with worry. She has a hand reached out as if she is about to touch but doesn’t.

The hand tightly wrapped around his wrist doesn’t belong to her. Confused, Stiles turns to his left to find Theo standing there.

_An emotional tether._

“You went too deep,” He explains slowly uncurling his fingers.

_Someone who has a deep connection with you._

“Stiles,” Kira says, “Your nose is bleeding.”

He brings a hand up to his nose wiping the blood away from under his nostrils. It’s not much, just a few drops of dark red. He lets it run down his finger, watching the trail it leaves behind, watching it paint the same abstruse pattern on the palm of his hand as he has seen on the walls.

“I’m still inside my mind.”

Another explosion of colors, far more brutal than the first one. Stiles is thrown off the ground – then he falls, deeper and deeper. So far that he is sure when he touches down, every single bone in his body will be shattered and broken.

Panicked, he tries to hold on to something. Anything would do to stop his fall. But there is nothing here, nothing but eternal darkness.

And then- “This isn’t real.”

The fall stops and he slams into a pool of water. The impact is still hard but bearable.

Stiles makes his way to find air. As he surfaces, the deep pool of water is nothing more than stream in the middle of the woods. He glances to his left and up. He recognizes the bridge.

This is the place where Theo’s sister had died long ago.

But the place feels wrong; not only because of its history or the fact that it isn’t real. There is too much detail to this place, things he doesn’t know were here or wouldn’t think about in order to bring it alive; like the bunch of white flowers just underneath the bridge, the small marks carved into the wood down where the railing starts, a tree with a dented branch or the small segments of ice floating on the water glistening in the moonlight like little stars.

The wind here sounds like a voice, raspy and hoarse. A voice that hasn’t been used in quite some time. A voice Stiles would run from if he heard it somewhere other than his screwed up mind.

Shivering, Stiles makes his way out of the stream. It’s cold enough that he can see his own breath. There is snow on the ground, not even enough to cover the wood. Stiles closes his eyes to sort his thoughts. It’s so hard to focus on the unreality of the situation with the cold creeping up from his wet shoes and clothes.

“Please,” Stiles’ voice shakes with cold as well, “ _Please_. I need to know who to protect.”

He shivers, turning in circles as the wind picks up – and this time, it carries a name. _His_ name. He doesn’t know the voice, has never heard it before. But his body reacts to it instantly.

Blind panic.

Stiles turns around and his thoughts slip. Crawling towards him is a young girl. Her black hair hangs in thick, wet strands in front of her ashen face. The movements seem wrong, sometimes flicking in and out of existence. She opens her mouth and his name is carried again, followed by the gurgling sound from a broken throat.

Panicked, Stiles hurls himself backwards. But the girl leaps off the ground and catches him by his shoulders. He slips on the snow and frost, unable to keep himself upright. They topple to the ground. His back and shoulder ache from the impact. The girl can’t weigh much but underneath her, Stiles feels crushed.

He is fighting anyway, pushing and pulling at her, struggling to get her off of his body.

But she laughs and it sounds like the distorted rattle of a crow. The girl presses a hand to his chest raising herself up.

That’s when Stiles notices the gaping whole in her chest, ribs bent outward, flaps of skin on pale bone. The place, where her heart should be, is surrounded by decayed intestines.

Through his nausea and fear, Stiles recognizes the girl. It’s the shape of her eyes and her nose. The way excitement lights the blue in all the wrong ways. The way she curls her fingers just before she strikes.

“Tara,” He whispers and her rotten blue lips spread into a wide, manic grin.

Nails press into the opening of his ribcage, demanding and unrelenting.

This is not real.

Stiles presses his eyes shut.

“This isn’t real,” He whispers again and again and again. This isn’t even his nightmare. It’s Theo’s.

But why is he seeing it?

Why is he experiencing Theo’s nightmare?

Her dirty blunt nails dig through his sweater and into his skin. Stiles wails in pain, screams at the top of his lungs as the fingers dig deeper, peel away layer after layer. Breaking his ribs. Pulling at his heart.

Tara rips it out of his chest with a sickening sound and cradles the heart in her arms. It’s still beating, still warm. Even detached from his body, his heart looks more alive than Tara ever could.

Stiles watches her, bleed seeping past his lips down his cheek. He watches it mix with the snow, drawing obscure patterns.

“Not real,” He says closing his eyes.

As he opens them yet another time, Stiles is back in the white room. This time, he doesn’t look around. He doesn’t need to. Surrounded by patterns Stiles finally recognizes is a giant old wooden mirror. His reflection looks back at him dressed in the partly striped hoody with the two red lines he hadn’t worn since the nogitsune used him as a meat suit. He despised the memories that it brought with it, so he threw it in the trash – along with everything else the fox spirit tarnished.

Slowly, Stiles gets to his feet.

His reflection doesn’t move. It looks down at him, waiting for something.

The patterns around the mirror curl around it. The patterns… they are the roots of the nemeton. And at those roots-

Stiles reaches up a hand. His reflection cocks his head to the side, assessing the situation. Does Stiles just want to check if what he sees is real? Does he just want to touch? Perhaps. Stiles isn’t too sure himself. Then it reaches out its hand as well, presses it flat against the glass.

He is very confident that this is a terrible idea.

Stiles wonders, how much can he sacrifice to secure the city he grew up in? What actions are justifiable as long as they protect the people he loves and cares about?

His friends.

His family.

Everyone, he ever cared about.

Underneath his fingertips, the glass is cool; a strong reassuring surface that should protect him. When he had been younger, he had sometimes wondered what kind of worlds lay behind a mirror or whether it’s nothing but lights that recreated what’s right in front of it. He remembers believing, that a mirror protected him from the evil of this world. Because his mother had always smiled when she had stood behind him watching their reflections.

Perhaps, he thinks now, he has been right.

The glass cracks at the first touch. The line draws a circle around his finger, then it curls sideways and right, stops and restarts somewhere else. Until the copy of the nemeton’s roots is drawn; and it breaks with a crunch.

Glistening shards are raining down on him but he doesn’t look away while his reflection is ascending. Soundless, it comes to its feet – a perfect image of Stiles, with just one tiny difference. It’s eyes. They are black.

“Wake up, Stiles,” It whispers.

 

It’s like starting up from your sleep after a nightmare. Just that this time it was real.

The white bleeds back into Deaton’s operation room. Stiles feels fingers slip from his wrist before his mind has fully been able to pry itself from the reality the nemeton has pulled it into. Light flickers above his head, giving the dark room a grotesque image.

“Stiles,” Isaac sounds wary. He picked up that something has changed. Maybe it’s his scent or the way his heart beats. Perhaps his aura echoes differently around him like Kira’s had before she learned to control her powers. It doesn’t matter how he knows, and it’s good. Isaac is the only one in the room who notices the slight differences in him when nobody else would.

Because Isaac was there when the nogitsune was inside him.

“I’m fine,” Stiles replies but he is not sure that’s true. He feels fine, still a little odd after what he did. That’s to be excused. The only thing to worry about is the quiet whisper in his head. But that comes later.

“What happened to him?” Weirdly detached from his own emotions, Stiles nods towards the ground. Theo lays in front of his feet, crumpled like a broken toy. There is blood on his nose and the corner of his mouth.

“He tried to pull you back,” Kira explains, “But something happened.”

That’s why he was the main character in the reenactment of Theo’s nightmare. “I pulled him in,” Stiles realizes crouching down. Grabbing Theo’s chin, he turns his head to get a better look at his face. Then, carefully, he slides a finger to Theo’s pulse. It’s there, regular and strong. He’s just unconscious.

“He’s going to wake up, right?” Like the idiot he is, Theo blindly followed him into danger. But this time he was seriously hurt in the process. Being punched by a hellhound is one thing. Playing with the nemeton’s power is something entirely else.

Deaton nods. “Most likely.”

“ _Most_?” Stiles echoes angrily, “What do you mean with _most_?”

“There is never a hundred percent chance for a recovery, Stiles.”

Of course, he would say something fucking stupid like this. Why did he even bother asking? “Isaac, come help me get him off the ground.”

The werewolf doesn’t move at first. He stands, rooted to floor inside his assigned circle and just looks at him. It’s a smart move. If something funky was going on, Isaac wouldn’t have a pack to back him up – at least not here. Right now, Isaac is nothing more than an omega in Beacon Hills; like every other werewolf in this godforsaken town. Stiles waits for the day where Beacon Hills is nothing more but an ordinary small town in California.

Eventually, Isaac joins him. “He looks comfy, if you ask me.”

“Well,” Stiles rolls his eyes, “I didn’t ask you. Now fucking help me.”

They both seize Theo by the arm and haul him to his feet. Working and bickering with Isaac feels familiar and familiar is something he needs right now. It suffocates the peculiarity bubbling to life deep inside of him.

“He’s heavy for a fun-sized werewolf.”

Stiles snorts out a laugh locking eyes with Isaac over Theo’s head. The werewolf raises a brow. He’s still assessing Stiles as if he is expecting to be stabbed in the back at any second. Understandable. Those past events aren’t just hard on him. Sure, he has to live with the consequences of the nogitsune’s actions. But the nightmares are something they all have kept from that time.

“Stiles-“ Lydia touches his shoulder, fingers ghosting over his sweater in a way that feels too cautious for their relationship. Neither of them minds touch. Not between the two of them. They run into each other’s arms for comfort, curl fingers around wrists for attention, yank on clothes for an indication to follow. Not like this. Never like this. One finger after another finds a place on his shoulder before she squeezes slightly.

Isaac pushes Theo alone on the operation table, dropping him a little too careless. Not that it would hurt the chimera in any way.

Stiles turns around to look at Lydia in question.

“What did you see?”

For a moment, Stiles glances at Deaton almost daringly. _Tell them,_ he wants to say. But he doesn’t. Instead he looks at Lydia again, corner of his mouth tipped upwards in the smallest of smiles.

“I think the nemeton tried to warn me,” Stiles replies.

“Warn _you_?” Lydia echoes.

Kira appears at her side. She doesn’t behave any different. The only one noticing the change seems to be Isaac. It must be his scent. “What would it want to warn you about?”

Stiles opens his mouth for an explanation, then closes his again. _Not to become a murderer._ But he doesn’t know how to phrase it without sounding crazy.

“Derek was right about you, then,” Deaton says.

Stiles levels his gaze on him. “Right about _what_?”

“He told me about a legend, about a creature called Void.” Deaton answers unimpressed by Stiles’ obvious anger.

“Like the nogitsune?” Kira asks fear creeping into the edges of her voice. The emotion is reverberating in the room. Jumping from left to right, up and down and back again like a bouncy ball.

It makes Stiles dizzy.

“Actually, no. Because the story is so old and the legend is barely known-“ So much, in fact, that not even Deaton knew about it before Derek came along- “void and nogitsune have been mistaken as the same thing. While the nogitsune is a dark fox spirit, void is the rarest and most powerful form of an emissary.”

“An emissary?” Lydia asks.

“Yes. This kind of emissary embraces a unique magic. Although human-“ Stiles’ heart skips a beat at the word. _Human._ He is still _human_ \- “it can be – on the peak of its power – as strong as a born alpha werewolf, physically. According to the legend, there have been three different evolutions to a void’s power.” Stiles curls his fingers into fists, nails digging into his skin. Someone puts a hand on his neck. Isaac. He gives him one of his lopsided smiles.

“Void can give it to a werewolf to make it an alpha-“ _Scott_. If Deaton’s right, he has never been a true alpha. He has gotten his power through Stiles; and that’s how he lost it again. Lydia glances at him, understanding the meaning of this sentence as well – “or it can learn to control the magic it wields to support its pack.”

Stiles shifts at the pause.

Kira glances from Deaton to Stiles and back again.

“What’s the third one?” Isaac asks warily.

Deaton sighs quietly. “It goes mad and creates chaos, strife and pain in its wake.”


	5. The Wrong Kind of Right

“Is that guy really necessary?” Theo scowls at Isaac who grins at him so wide and fake his cheeks have to hurt.

Stiles rolls his eyes at Theo, then looks away again. Really, Theo’s mood torpedoed down after he woke up – and he complained over a headache which doesn’t surprise anybody after what happened. Also, he looks mildly greenish-pale; even two hours after waking up. Stiles wonders if he’ll throw up at any time soon. He’s avoiding the subject with his sister altogether. It’s as off limits as sugar to Stiles’ father. Not even awakening Void – whatever that means exactly – could improve his mood. Instead he is constantly glaring at Isaac and treating Stiles almost indifferently; which in turn irks him a lot.

“Yes,” Stiles answers curtly, “He is.” Because Isaac had seen him at his worst. He knows what to look out for. Stiles trusts him to ram the syringe full of kanima venom in the back of his neck to knock him out. Not that he hoped something would happen. It’s a safety measure. Like a child safety lock. Your kid doesn’t need to climb into the freezer. But it _might_. Being prepared is everything, especially in the supernatural world.

Theo narrows his eyes. “Why?” He asks sounding like a petulant toddler, “Because he’s _Derek_ ’s beta?”

Stiles stiffens. “Shut up.”

The command is followed by a scoff. “Someone seems a little sensitive,” Theo says from where he sits behind Stiles on the bleachers. But he doesn’t need to see the chimera’s face to know that he is smirking. “Why?” Theo’s knee has constantly been pressed against Stiles’ good shoulder, a touch that is as grounding as the sharp words of the monster living inside his head.

Stiles decides not to reply. But he glances at Isaac who does a particularly bad job at hiding his sympathy. The Hale pack knew. Perhaps they didn’t know for sure _what_ was going on but they were aware that something was there between Stiles and Derek; a thin thread woven around their pinkie fingers – not tight enough to pull them together but not lose enough to tear either. The issues they both have to struggle with, both mentally and emotionally, always kept them apart; and maybe that’s for the best.

“Dead silence,” Theo chuckles unaware what kind of hollow echo he evokes in Stiles; the dull ache just behind his ribcage. Although Theo knows a lot, admittedly, those two words had to be a coincidence. And yet-

“You don’t get to talk about Derek,” He hisses through gritted teeth, a snake’s sound. Small but ever so dangerous. There is an aching throb behind his brow. The faint reminder of the beginning of a headache. Usually. Stiles has the feeling this is something else.

Theo makes a sound, an odd mixture of a laugh and a sigh. “Why?” He asks again and steps around Stiles, with open arms and a smile on his face, “Because he left you?” The bleachers vibrate underneath his steps.

Or maybe it’s Stiles who vibrates.

He suppresses the urge to break every single one of Theo’s fingers, just to see the self-assured bastard’s smile fall from his face. He wears pain so well. But he stays silent again, eyes on the field where Liam hurls a ball in the direction of the goal and misses spectacularly. Aggressive, he throws the Lacrosse stick to the ground, pushing at someone who tries to calm him down. A second later, the sound of Coach’s whistle rips through the air and Liam is sent to the bench – something he reluctantly accepts with even more anger.  

Isaac scoots closer, not by much but enough that Theo notices the shift. His eyes darken and he steps into Stiles’ view, obscuring his vision with more but his presence.

“How did it feel to be dumped again?” Theo asks driving the knife point deeper into fragile skin, “First Scott chose Deaton as his emissary and then Derek left and suddenly-“ Theo leans down, forcing Stiles’ view to tunnel down on him, _only_ him- “Suddenly you were useless again.”

He wants to hurt Theo so bad his every single muscle in his body aches at his resistance. While time stops, a power stretches and curls around him like a snake made out of pale grey smoke; unable to grasp it but still there.

Stiles clenches his hands into tight fists. His fingernails dig hard into his skin, not yet breaking it. It would be easy to give in to the hissing in his ear, an urgent request to _just do it_. Everything would be easier, better – he would be so much stronger. He’s done it before anyway, he gave in, punched Theo. One more time wouldn’t be that bad.

“Power isn’t everything,” Stiles spats shoving Theo out of the way to focus in the trainings match again.

Isaac besides him slumps against the bleacher at his back. Out of the corner of his eye, Stiles notices him pushing something back in his pocket. It was a good decision to give Isaac the syringe. Lydia has been confident that she could pull him back whenever. Still, he reminded her that they won’t be together every single second of the day.

Stiles glances at his watch. They are late anyway.

Kira wanted to visit her mother to retrieve her sword – they’d need it most likely. Liam had brought it there on Kira’s request after Theo was freed. She didn’t want to have it with her at all times. Bad memories. Stiles wonders if she had thought the same he does currently, _just in case_.

“Stiles has never been nothing,” Isaac says a little belatedly as if choosing every word deliberately, “He was Derek’s anchor.” He looks at Theo as Stiles winces at the reminder. God, he was everything to Derek Stiles wanted to be for his best friend, his _brother._ But Scott chose people over him he had barely known, Deaton, Derek, Allison, Kira – even Theo. “You should know how important that is.”

“I don’t need an anchor,” Theo replies indignantly.

Isaac scoffs, “Every werewolf does.”

“Well,” Stiles chimes in gladly to push aside the heavy topic, “Theo’s nothing more than a cheap knock-off. A _chimera_.” As soon as the words are out, he snaps his mouth shut audibly. Stiles knows his statement hit home. Not only because of the snarl that causes Isaac to reply with one of his own. Stiles knows better than to play on other people’s insecurities (he remembers Isaac telling him about what Derek had done, remembers confronting the former alpha in the middle of the fucking night because he had been _so_ angry. “I did it to protect him,” Derek had replied curtly. And Stiles remembers how he had stood there and thought: _If it’s about survival, isn’t a little agony worth it?_ But this is different. This is wrong). Stiles is fully aware that Theo just wants to be recognized, wants to hear ‘ _you did good_ ’´ at least once in his life.

And he uses that knowledge to tear into Theo. Stiles feels vile at his own behaviour. Right now, he isn’t better than the chimera himself. His moral high ground – a farce from the very beginning – shatters underneath his feet.

“Explains why his scent’s so funky,” Isaac croons his voice far more offensive than strictly necessary, “ When he’s nothing more than a bad copy.”

Stiles frowns. Isaac tends to be an ass and a little hot-headed, true, but he usually isn’t this trigger happy around allies; even if said ally is Theo Raeken.

“This copy,” Theo snarls sharp canines making him slur his words, “Will-“

Stiles reacts quickly. As Isaac jumps to his feet, he yanks at his stupid scarf. The werewolf chokes struggling for balance as he’s pulled back and away from Theo. “Stop _fighting_ ,” He hisses just as Coach looks in their direction. The poor man remembers Isaac and Stiles mean trouble. More often than not, something close to a catastrophe happened with the two of them around or involved. No wonder, Coach resigned. It’s a surprised he came back.

Ha ha.

Look, who is talking.

He’d be laughing if he weren’t busy trying to keep two supernatural creatures apart who are currently trying to tear each other’s throats out. It doesn’t even make any kind of sense that Theo is attacking Isaac. If he were to hurt him, Stiles would shove a baseball bat wrapped up in mistletoe up his ass; Lucille would pale in comparison. But his tender ego appears to be bruised enough that clawing Isaac’s eyes out seems to be a good idea in Theo’s eyes.

Which doesn’t make any sense either.

But when does anything regarding Theo makes any kind of fucking sense?

“Stilinski!” Coach bellows just as Isaac launches for another attack. Stiles hurls himself from the bleachers and groans as he smacks into him. The force sends him straight into Theo, who easily wraps an arm around his waist to move him out of the way like a frail porcelain doll. “Get your fangirls under control!”

“Yes, Coach!” Stiles calls back. Flailing a little, he tries to get between the two of them again. It’s not as easy as it sounds, since Theo makes sure to push him out of reach. Good to know the guy only _looks_ like he’s a second away from throwing up. Isaacs snarls again, stepping closer with his eyes a bright yellow. “Would you stop?” Stiles yanks on Theo’s arm, to no avail. “This is-“

A scream interrupts him. It’s loud enough that the sound is vibrating in his bones. He knows it, inside out. He had been the one tell her to scream.

Isaac cranes his neck in the direction of the woods. Theo freezes.

“Lydia-“ Stiles dashes away from the bleachers and over the lacrosse field.

Theo snaps his name. He tries to grab him but his fingers graze his sweater. His thumb and middle finger squeeze Stiles’ elbow. However, before he can tighten his grip properly, Stiles has brought a reasonable amount of distance between them. Coach yells ‘That’s how you break into a run!’ but no one seems to be listening, confused by what is going on, what has happened – and a moment later, Coach hollers after Liam who has already caught up with Stiles.

The two of them careen through the woods, Isaac and Theo on their heels. He is running half blind, the dark creeping into his vision as the woods get thicker. But he doesn’t need a werewolf’s eyes or nose or ears to find Lydia. He senses her in a way he never had before. Their connection guides him like a safety line.

He gains speed, jumping over roots and ducking under branches. It’s impressive really, that he manages to run this fast without a single accident. There have been times where Stiles couldn’t sprint two feet without risking to break his neck – especially with a fucked-up ankle and on pain meds.

Somehow, he doubts this change has anything to do with him becoming less clumsy.

And then he stops dead in his tracks. One of the werewolves crashes into him at breakneck speed and they tumble and fall to the ground. He lands on a broken branch or wood or something similarly painful – and the weight on top of him doesn’t do anything to dim the impact.

Liam groans above him, as if he has been the one who’s been hit with a sledgehammer. But Stiles has barely time to register the dull ache in his already abused shoulder and back, let alone his ankle.

In front of him are Lydia and Kira. Both are gaping at something above them as if they are petrified.

A dead body.

Stiles is pulled to his feet after Liam was yanked off him. The arms around him are familiar and the grip surprisingly gentle despite the cruel nature. Still, Stiles pushes Theo away brushing his thumb over skin in a silent _thank you._ Then he goes to stand beside Lydia, who immediately grabs his hand squeezing tightly and almost to a point, where it could be considered painful.

“Why do I always find the disgusting ones with her?” Kira complains looking even more ill than Theo does. She clearly remembers the body parts they had found in a public restroom after Kate had been done with it. With a meek sound, she turns her head away. Distracted, Stiles puts an arm around her shoulders and Kira hides her face a disgusted sound.

Isaac steps closer, crowding up against Lydia and Stiles. “Do you think she was still alive as they-“ He gestures faintly towards the dead body in front of them.

“Shoved a stake inside her to prop her up as decoration?”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “ _Theo_.”

“Impaled her,” Theo corrects stepping closer too.

Stiles has the urge to clap his shoulder. He doesn’t reach it from where he stands, though, and instead awkwardly taps the chimera’s collarbone with three fingers. “There we go,” Stiles says approvingly even if distracted, “You’ll get there eventually.” Hopefully. Maybe he could teach him.

Liam makes a choking noise and for a moment Stiles is worried that he might retch on someone in their small but tight-knitted circle. “If she was-“ He looks at Stiles unsure about really wanting an answer – “How long could she survive that?” There is a plea in his voice. _Lie if it’s a horrible answer_.

“A few seconds to three days,” Stiles answers automatically because it is a very stupid idea to address a question to either Stiles or Lydia if you have no intention of getting an honest answer, “Depends on how the stake runs through her.”

Isaac stares at him. Liam looks like he is about to vomit again and Kira whines at his shoulder.

“What?” Stiles shoots back, “I read too.”

Lydia pats his lower back at the reply, her expression somewhat torn between pride and confusion. Yeah, probably not the best moment to be cocky.

Isaac questions Stiles’ sanity enough that it’s written very clearly all over his expression.

Lydia puts a hand on Liam’s shoulder. “She died quickly,” She says soothing and Stiles nods in agreement. The stake has gone in at her back and out just underneath her collarbone. Vital organs have been damaged and shortened her pain to the maximum of a couple seconds or a minute, if she was stubborn. Not that he’s going to say anything out loud. It wouldn’t really make anybody here feel better about the poor girl.

Stiles assumes she has been his age, maybe a little younger. But with the dirt and blood in her hair, on her face and clothes, it is hard to be precise.

“We should call your dad,” Isaac says sounding seriously, “And Jordan.”

“Mhm,” Stiles replies biting the inside of his lip. Something irks him about the way the dead girl’s right hand is positioned. He doesn’t know why it bothers him so much. Perhaps because it is almost too obvious.

“I’m going to call your dad.”

Does she point at something? It sure as hell looks like it. But maybe he is just imagining things. Maybe he just _wants_ to find something that isn’t actually there.

“Kira and I go tell Coach what’s up,” Liam announces and Stiles finds himself nodding again, only listening partly.  

Or does she have something in her hand and one finger slipped from her fist? Then again-

“ _Stiles_!”

He flinches in surprise turning around to find Theo and Lydia looking at him. Seeing the two of them together, standing side by side, almost close enough that their arms touch, is a peculiar sight. She doesn’t even look sideways at the chimera, although Theo has been anything but careful with her and she has every reason to send his ass in the next week. Yet, she doesn’t and with that proving that she, in fact, does trust Stiles’ instincts without a single doubt. 

“What?” He asks puzzled.

Lydia rolls her eyes.

“I asked what you saw,” Theo replies obviously annoyed that he hasn’t gotten the attention he thinks he deserves.

Stiles scratches the back of his head. “I _think_ there’s something in her hand.” Or he’s paranoid. Which wouldn’t be completely surprising to anybody. Everyone who knows him long enough is very much aware that Stiles paranoia is basically his second name – or third. Yeah, it’s the third since he has to count his abomination of a first name. Hold on, then it’s actually his fourth name.

This is getting seriously-

Theo starts towards the body.

“ _What_ do you think you’re _doing_?” Stiles grabs the chimera’s wrist tightly and stops him effectively in his tracks. He could have simply stepped in his way. It would have forced Theo into a halt as well. Instead he has chosen to wraps his fingers around his wrist; he can feel Theo’s steady pulse underneath his fingertips.

Why?

This is an ambiguous why, mind you.

One, why did he do it?

Second, why does he freak out about it?

It’s nothing; he just grabbed Theo’s wrist to stop him from doing something stupid.

“I want to see what’s in her hand,” Theo answers as if that is perfectly logical.

Lydia crosses her arms. “You can’t disrupt a crime-scene.”

“And that from a girl who played the police twelve hours ago,” Theo deadpans not even looking over his shoulder as he does so. He doesn’t move at all. In fact, he stays stock-still in front of him as if Stiles’ touch has rooted him to the ground.

Up close, Stiles can see the dark shadows underneath Theo’s eyes. His skin is terrible pale still. If he doesn’t know better, Stiles would say the chimera comes down with a harsh cold. But werewolves don’t get ill, at least as far as he knows. So, it’s likely that chimeras won’t either. After all, they have even less weaknesses than a normal werewolf. Stiles hopes that Theo is only this affected by what has happened back at Deaton’s because he didn’t get enough sleep. If it is something else-

Suddenly, Theo’s eyes burn a bright yellow. He uses Stiles’ grip on him to get him out of the way. Stiles stumbles into Lydia at the force who ungracefully catches him around the waist. But her shoes are not made for this kind of uneven forest soil and Stiles can’t properly keep his balance without putting weight on his bad ankle. With a high-pitched sound, they both give in to gravity and fall.

For the second time within a short span of time, Stiles lands in leaves, dirt and whatever else is hidden underneath all this nature crap. There is a reason he despises the outdoors and spends most of his free time behind his laptop or with his nose inside a book. Nature is fucking dangerous, especially when living the life they are living.

“I’m sorry.” Stiles gets to his feet more flailing than anything else and offers Lydia a helping hand. With a raised brow, she declines with good reason. He’d probably topple over again. His body draws attention to his ankle and shoulder, reminding him that he isn’t treating them the way he should _and_ needs to take a couple of pain killers again. “Are you o-“

A loud roar pulls his attention away from Lydia. Startled, he turns around – just in time to see Malia slam into Theo with steel blue eyes and sharp canines, claws ready to slash throats. The impact sends them both flying. Before they hit the ground, Theo has already kicked her off him and comes to his feet enviably gracefully.  

Lydia crawls backwards and away from Malia who lands in a crouch, snarling. As she dashes back towards Theo, she kicks up leaves and dirt. It hits Stiles and Lydia who protects her face with her arms.

“ _Malia_!” Stiles yells but the werecoyote slashes at Theo without so much as glancing in his direction. “Malia, _stop_!”

But she doesn’t listen and she definitively has no intention to stop until she has ripped out Theo’s throat and vocal cords; which is understandable. He shot her and all that jazz. Right now, her stupid revenge isn’t going to help anybody. Hasn’t she noticed there is a fucking dead girl only a couple of feet away from her?

“This is not how you solve problems, Malia,” Stiles snaps angrily.

Theo, who dodges her vicious swing again, is relaxed enough to roll his eyes. It’s incredible how much strength he possesses while looking dead on his feet. If Stiles were to bet on a winner, he’d do so on the chimera. Not because Malia isn’t strong. But Theo’s fighting style is a lot more refined _._ Probably because he has been ripping throats out before Stiles shot his first goal in Lacrosse. Okay, that’s a terrible comparison. He sucks at Lacrosse. _Mostly_. He has his moments. Sometimes.

Lydia elbows him in the side as Theo ducks from another potentially painful swing. He’s not attacking. Not a single fucking time. No matter how adamant Malia goes after him. It’s surprising, honestly. Stiles would’ve expected him to counter her at least _once_. But he doesn’t. He skids around with his usual level of smugness which probably isn’t helping his situation at all. It’s not going to aid his situation if he keeps on making fun of her.

“Stiles,” Lydia says elbowing him again.

He looks in the direction she nods in. There stands, partially shocked at the body and confused about Theo’s return, Scott. His glance jumps between the chimera and the impaled body of the girl – Stiles doesn’t even know her name, he realizes belatedly. But then, he hasn’t seen her before, so she didn’t go to Beacon Hills High.

“It wasn’t him,” Stiles says not even trying to hide his hostility towards Scott, whose expression changes to startled in a heartbeat, “Now call your lapdog off.”

For a couple of seconds, Scott stares at him and Lydia, who quietly stands at Stiles’ side one arm looped through his. “I can’t.” They are a unit whether or not Lydia likes how he treats Scott. She said she understands, and he wouldn’t want her to be caught in the middle. Under no circumstances, Stiles would forbid her to see Scott _or_ make her choose between the two of them. This fight is between the two of them and them only. Nobody else will participate in it.

“ _What_?” Stiles asks.

Scott looks at him like a kicked puppy. “She doesn’t listen anymore.”

Stiles stays quiet. Slowly, his eyes drift away from Scott and back to Theo, who keeps up his dance. It’s obvious _why_ he is passive. He wants to impress Stiles, act as if he has changed – especially after his almost fight with Isaac only a couple of minutes ago. It’s smart. After all, Stiles is the one vouching for him – and even Derek has been afraid of the sheriff. Thinking back about the awkward breakfast this morning, Theo worries about John Stilinski enough to consider the possibility of a poisoned bagel.

But the passiveness irritates Malia even more and she snarls louder, gets more aggression in her attacks. Enough that as Theo’s foot catches on a root, she knocks him down with a single sweep of her claws. But before she can pounce on him, Theo is back on his feet grinning as if nothing happened.

But Stiles can see right through his act. He’s tired. There is an exhaustion in his bones Stiles’ knows isn’t his. It’s there like the information out of a book; just that he doesn’t have to read it to acquire it. Instead he just knows it – a definite reminder that something has profoundly changed inside Stiles’ brain.

He could end it, should end the fight. One word from Stiles and Theo would counter act.

“Why is _he_ back?” Scott has stepped closer, unsure.

Stiles wonders why. Because he killed Donovan or because their friendship lays in broken fragments at their feet? _Or because he can smell something off about your scent and tries to place it. Maybe he knows something is wrong with you like Isaac does._

Lydia had told him once to give Scott a chance, that he’s a good guy. But Stiles can’t. He is still so angry, so _hurt_ , that he can’t. Maybe it’s unfair after everything Scott has done for him. But maybe that’s it. After everything _Scott-and-Stiles_ have gone through, all those betrayals are even more painful. Because they were best friends, _brothers_ and Scott just shit all over him because a boy, they’ve known in fourth grade, told him Stiles had killed someone. He just believed him, no questions asked.

“I freed him,” Stiles replies easily. He glances at Scott for a second, assessing. “How’s Deucalion? Do you two hang out a lot?” There is poison in his voice, burning and bruising. But he hasn’t bitten yet. It’s more like a reminder; _hey, I don’t look it but I’m dangerous_. People tend to forget it and brush him off as the human with a baseball bat. They smile and push him out of harm’s way. It would be nice if it didn’t feel so condescending.

He doesn’t need fangs or superpowers. He was dangerous before the nemeton told him to wake up.

But his supernatural acquaintances ignored it, except for Lydia, Derek and Theo. They’ve taken him for granted, took him seriously – even before a nogitsune chose _him_ for his power.

“Stiles, Theo killed me,” Scott reminds him _as if_ Stiles could forget something like that. After all, he cares about Scott. A lot. They were childhood friends, grew up together, were alone together. They were the awkward outsiders nobody took serious. If Scott got hurt, Stiles would unleash his wrath upon those who did it.

Stiles isn’t sure about Scott anymore. After everything that had happened, his priorities had shifted – and for once Stiles isn’t going to forgive and forget. Because he can’t. They were the best of friends and this makes the pain worse, the betrayal even crueller.

Malia roars aggressively but Theo steps out of her way. His easiness is dwindling slowly. His power drained. But her claws find merely a tree and she snarls.

All Stiles can see in her right now is an animal; an instinct-driven creature unable to live properly amongst humans, no matter how hard she tries. They took her to school too soon, tried to integrate her before she was able to understand the basic concept of humanity.

Theo does but chooses to ignore it.

Somehow, it’s hard to determine who is better between the two of them.

“You’re alive for a dead guy,” Stiles answers icily eventually and Lydia slides his hand down his arm, grabs his hand tightly, as if she can sense _Scott-and-Stiles_ dying. “You know who isn’t alive? Erica and Boyd.”

Scott is silent again, watching Malia slice the air.

Stiles wonders if he can’t or won’t stop her. After all, he never seemed to be bothered by how Theo has been handled. But wasn’t it Scott who preached that everybody deserves a chance? That _everybody_ has something good inside of them?

But that’s the problem, isn’t it? Scott thinks the world is to be divided between good and bad, black and white. A redemption is to be found for everyone who makes a mistake – unless they hurt Scott. Because then, there is just no hope. How dare someone dislike this poor innocent child who only ever does what is right? How dare someone not like him?

“It doesn’t matter, does it?” Stiles asks as Scott doesn’t reply anything, “Because they weren’t your pack.”

A snarl presents Isaac’s return. He’s angry, too. Scott fidgets scowling, then watches Theo and Malia again. Theo’s smug impression is skewed with barely contained rage. It won’t take long until he cracks. He’s tired and suddenly on edge again.

“But they were my pack, you know?” It’s the first time he says out loud what he has been thinking about for a while. Although it stings, it makes some kind of sick sense. If Deaton is right, and Stiles honestly doesn’t doubt his story, he may have given his power to Scott – but in the end, it has been Derek whose pack he belonged to. Because Derek has come to him when in need, because Derek has come to him for help and Derek has _always_ trusted him, no matter what.

“They were Isaac’s friends.”

Stiles has felt so lost after Derek saved Cora’s life and gave up his alpha power. Everything was crumbling around him. He lost his focus point, lost what grounded him. He was swimming, passing by. With nowhere to go and nowhere to stay. The relationship with his father was a mess, they were trying to fix what was broken. Lydia and he were far from where they are now. The only thing keeping him afloat was Derek, because their relationship didn’t weaken. But even this stable link wasn’t enough to fill the hole inside of him that was carved during their odyssey.

“And you let their murderer walk free _twice_.”

Derek did what Lydia does – as well as Theo. They are seeing him for what he truly is and stay at his side regardless. It’s terrifying because it opens something Stiles is desperate to keep tightly locked. But the door is ajar and the handle is slipping through his fingers.

Stiles doesn’t know how long he will be able to cling to it.

Lydia digs her nails into the palm of his hand, pleading in a hushed voice. “Stop it, Stiles.”

For a moment, he isn’t sure what she means. Then he realises all the anger around him. Theo, whose smugness has been replaced by what can only be described as hatred. Malia, who is furiously swiping for a kill. Isaac, who snarls at his former alpha. Scott, whose face contorted into anger at the things Stiles has said.

“Theo,” He says voice shaking as he tries to keep the anger out of it. “End it. We’re done here.” He squeezes Lydia’s hand who squeezes back just as tightly.

 

Parrish drove them home after Stiles’ father had made sure they were okay. They are, on the outside. Malia had already healed and left before the police arrived. It was quiet in the car. Nobody said anything. Lydia kissed his cheek and wished him a good night as she excited the car. Stiles nodded, told her they would see each other tomorrow – and tried to ignore how cold and empty his hand felt. Not for a second, Lydia let go of him and she sat in the car until she made sure Stiles was relatively okay.

As Stiles opened the front door, key clinging between his shaking fingers, he realized that he didn’t know where Isaac would be spending the night. He didn’t have family in town, no pack. His hostile behaviour towards Scott eliminated the possibility of him living with the McCall’s again. Isaac didn’t even think about leaving with Scott or made any indication that the two of them had talked to each other prior to Stiles’ arrival.

Theo followed him to the bathroom like a shadow.

And that’s where they still are. With blood and tears pooling in the sink, and a cracked mirror in front of them. Stiles watches the blood run from his knuckles, down his hand until it drops onto the white porcelain.

First, as Stiles is sure there are no patterns left behind, he allows Theo to take the pain away. But his brows are furrowed with concentration and his fingers are quivering as he bandages Stiles’ abused knuckles.

“Theo-“

“It’ll get easier eventually,” Theo replies without looking up and away from where he is working, “It will get _better_.”

“Theo,” Stiles begins again, “You need to rest.”

Theo freezes for just the quarter of a second, then he pulls the bandage just a little too tight. “It needs more than Deaton’s magic tricks to-“

“Just shut up and marvel in my concern,” Stiles snaps pulling his hand away. Carefully, he loosens the bandage while Theo simply stares at him.  “Don’t get used to it, though,” He adds almost as an afterthought.

Theo scoffs and turns to leave the bathroom.

“Wait,” Stiles says pointedly not looking away from his hand, “Thanks.” He doesn’t explain what he is thankful for. But he doubts he really has to and Theo doesn’t ask either. Actually, the chimera doesn’t say anything and the silence his heavy on Stiles’ shoulders.

First, as he does decide to lock eyes with him, Theo smiles – an honest to God smile, not one of this stupid smug grins or sneers. “You’re welcome,” He replies and then he smirks, “But don’t get used to it.”

_Touché._  


	6. The Devil You Know

“And we’re sure it’s not a serial killer?” John asks eyebrows tightly knitted.

Stiles, sitting on his father’s desk and chewing on a dry bagel, chuckles. “Would be great, huh?”

Parrish sighs audibly. Exhausted, he is slumped in on one of the chairs and half draped over the desk. Not for the first time, Stiles wants to pet his head. But since that would be slightly awkward, he keeps his hands to himself. “Yes,” Parrish says voice drowsy, “Humans killing humans would be a nice change.”

Well, Stiles knows that feeling. He thought the exact same not all too long ago. “’A reminder for the boy who runs with wolves’,” He reads from the note at the top of the corkboard, “I don’t know about you, dad, but it’s pretty obvious that this isn’t your friendly neighborhood sociopathic serial killer.”

John slumps in his desk chair running a hand over his face. “I don’t want you to go anywhere alone,” He says for the thousands time this morning. The second Stiles had burst in two hours ago with breakfast, too much energy because of too much caffeine, and without Theo – who is hopefully still fast asleep since it is six a.m. – his dad almost had a conniption. It took a moment for Stiles to figure out why.

“I promise, I won’t,” Stiles answers and he actually means it this time. They are all they have left in terms of family, and as much as he can’t live without his father, John can’t live without him. No sneaking around in the woods alone at night. Pinky promise. “Although I don’t think they can hurt me yet,” Stiles adds eventually blindly fumbling for his cup of coffee.

Parrish pushes it into his hand before he spills it all over the desk. “I’m still not sure my brother-“ There is a tone of unfamiliar happiness in his voice that Stiles can’t ignore – “Could properly explain what happened.”

As Stiles scrutinizes Parrish, he wonders how he never noticed it before. The information was right in front of him and they certainly look alike. But he was probably too distracted to run for his life than to see that Jordan Parrish is Isaac’s missing brother. He also doesn’t remember to have seen them together at all. If he had done, he certainly would’ve noticed it immediately.

John rubs his forehead. As Stiles told him what Deaton had told them, he paled visibly. Then, after he recollected himself enough that Stiles knew he wouldn’t faint at any given moment, he nodded, muttering something about _I should’ve known_ – and dropped the subject. “Why?” His father asks curtly.

Stiles drops his bagel. “They attacked me two days ago-“ Is it already two days? Damn, his sleep is completely screwed – “So, they clearly know who I am. Why kill someone else if I’m basically a power reactor? They want to resurrect their mother, not wreak havoc.” At least not now, Stiles adds in his head. But that comes later.

Parrish looks like he agrees on that matter.

John looks like he’s two seconds away from a heart attack.

“Dad,” Stiles says offering his father a small smile, “I’ll be fine. I mean-“ John has got no reason to believe a single word he just said; and Stiles can’t come up with a proper reason as to _why_ he’d even assume that he’s going to be fine. Everything sucks. “I’ve got Theo,” Stiles adds eventually with a shrug.

His father glares at him.

Okay. Bad timing for a joke.

“I still don’t trust him,” John reminds him with narrowed eyes, “And I don’t like the thought of the two of you alone.”

“We are barely alone,” Stiles replies. It’s true. They are only ever alone when they go to sleep at night. Apart from that Lydia is with them or Isaac – and he has been alone with Theo before. Nothing ever happens. Because if Stiles is sure about one thing, Theo still wants Stiles in his pack and he won’t rest until he gets it - even if it’s the last thing he does.

And now, it makes sense as to why.

Who wouldn’t want a personal alpha battery in his pack?

“You know what I mean,” John waves his hand in frustration.

“He’s not going to kill me in my sleep,” Stiles responds with a sigh.

Although his father doesn’t look satisfied with Stiles’ reassurance, he drops the topic. He knows it’s no use arguing with Stiles; also, John’s probably aware that he’s right. There have been plenty opportunities where it would have been easier for Theo to dispose of Stiles than save him. “Just watch yourself around him.”

“Well, dad, how about we concentrate on how to find the other Alicias?” Stiles asks nodding in the direction of the corkboard. They are sitting here for a while now, trying to connect the dots. But Deaton, Stiles and Alicia don’t have anything in common besides that they are born in Beacon Hills; and if that is the only factor they’ll have more than enough possible victims on their hands. There must be something else. _Has to be_.

And it’s not like they can really count Deacon, can they? The attack was an accident, based in an assumption because _somehow_ Stiles managed to spark the nemeton’s power from Palo Alto. He doesn’t even have a clue what he did. He was agitated the whole day, and slightly annoyed at the horrendous amount of homework he’s got to do. That’s all. He just _wanted_ to have everything finished with a snap.

“You sure she isn’t an emissary?” Parrish asks for what feels like the thousands time.

“She wasn’t an emissary,” Stiles answers again.

“What if she just had an activated spark?”

Stiles flinches so hard he almost tumbles off the desk and his father jumps to his feet, obviously angry at being caught off guard.

Theo raises a brow, slightly amused that he practically jump scared them all.

“An activated spark?” Parrish echoes as Theo strides towards Stiles. A lot of self-esteem is necessary to be this self-assured in a room with people who hate him. It’s fascinating. Then again, it’s not like Stiles hates him. He’s just not quite sure what Theo’s raison d’être is supposed to be – other than being a general pain in the ass.

“Yes,” Theo replies easily, grabbing Stiles hand as if that were perfectly normal in public, “Everybody has a spark but not everyone can activate it.” Almost gently, Theo pushes the bandage away from Stiles’ knuckles. Nobody says anything as he inspects the self-inflicted damage. The room drops into dead silence. It weighs heavy on Stiles because like this, everyone’s emotions ricochet off the walls as if they are playing squash with them.

Socially awkward as he may be, Stiles has always been able to pick up on other people’s emotions. He simply chose to ignore it. But having high empathy is one thing. He’d rather smell them than sucking them up like a sponge. They confuse him, make him fidgety. Even a second of sitting still is too much. His attention is running around in a circle as he tries to connect all the information he has received.

He can’t even find his own feelings in this chaos.

Suddenly, Theo has him by the neck and slams him face-forward against the empty side of the cork board. Stiles gets his arms up just in time to protect his face. But he is turned around quickly and then he’s watching himself in the eye. But he blinks and his doppelganger is gone, switched places with Theo within a heartbeat. “Finally,” The chimera announces aggravated, “I thought you’d never snap out of it.”

“ _What_?”

“You didn’t respond,” Theo replies matter of fact.

Stiles pushes him off him. “That’s no reason to slam me into the next available wall!”

“With you it is,“ Theo replies shrugging, “It’s better than kanima venom.” There is an awkward pause in which Stiles glances at his father, who obviously works through all the supernatural creatures he knows in order to remember what a kanima exactly is and does.

Theo grabs his chin. “Did you take Adderall?”

Affronted, Stiles pushes his hand away. “That’s none of your business.”

“It’ll become mine if every supernatural creature is losing it around you,” Theo hisses – and Stiles notices for the first time that Parrish has left the room. When? And, where is he?

Stiles crosses his arms. “Yes, I did.”

“ _Don’t_ ,” Theo says adamantly, “Your ADHD is your brain’s defense mechanism. It keeps you from focusing – and as long as you can’t control void, it’s better you can’t focus.”

John looks mildly horrified but quickly masks his expression as he notices Stiles is looking at him. “How do you know that?” That is a very good question. Deaton said the legend was old and barely known amongst the people nowadays. Derek knew but Talia Hale had been a very powerful alpha; even after her death Derek asked her for help.

How does Theo know?

“The Dread Doctors,” Theo answers eventually, “They knew. That’s why they never laid a finger on you.” He smirks and steps closer again, almost as if Stiles has never shoved him away in the first place. “They wanted to. They were sure you’d made the success they were looking for.” Something bitter leaks into his voice upon remembering another rejection. “But they have been too afraid to trigger something.”

Stiles snorts out a laugh, short and rigid – a fake sound, even in his own ears. “How could they trigger something?” He asks glancing at his father who watches the exchange warily, “I don’t even know how to do it.”

“Accidentally,” Theo replies easily, “I heard a story about someone who tried to shoot you.”

“Agent McCall shot him,” Stiles says quickly.

Theo cocks his head. “But the facts don’t add up, do they?”

No, they don’t and it is impressive nobody said anything. Because everybody who is capable in this field of work knows that the guy wasn’t shot in the back of his head; the way he should have been if what McCall says is the truth. But Stiles remembers how his head snapped backwards, away from Stiles as if the shot came from his direction. The entrance and exit wounds didn’t fit. Stiles knew McCall hadn’t fired his gun.

They both do.

And yet-

“You are called _void_ for two simple reasons,” Theo says pulling Stiles out of his thoughts, “On one hand, your spark is empty until you fill it with something. So, essentially, you’re powerless until triggered.” He leans against the desk like a teacher, completely unaffected by the confusion on the sheriff’s expression. “On the other hand, you’re magic should be inefficient because you don’t use _nothing_ but your own free will.”

Stiles freezes. He wanted the guy dead. He wanted Theo hurt and on the ground. He _wanted_ the wolfs bane to be enough. He wanted to keep Derek afloat. He wanted Scott to be strong enough to protect their hometown – and then he wanted him to suffer the consequences for his actions

 _Want_.

His own free will.

“Magic needs a price,” Theo says smirking, knowing he’s got Stiles exactly where he wants him, “A source, like the nemeton, the moon – or death in a banshee’s case. But you Stiles-“ He opens his arms, a terrifying glint in his eyes- “You can use everything around you – and that’s why you get lost so easily. Of course, no source means no limitations-“

“But it also means nothing to hold me back.”

John raises both hands, completely done with everything, “You know how he can control it?” He points at Theo.

“In theory.”

“ _In theory_?” Stiles echoes aghast.

“Teach him,” His father orders in his best sheriff voice – the one that made even Derek obey.

Theo, as well, bows to John’s will – but he does so with a small smirk. “Your wish is my command.”

 

“Did we just break into the school’s swimming pool?”

“The door was open,” Theo replies easily pulling Stiles after him by the wrist. Again, his grip is this peculiar kind of tight and gentle, demanding but still open for a possibility to slip away. It’s always like that with Theo since he’s back from Hell. He’s adamant about staying close to Stiles – enough that Lydia accepts their companionship without a doubt and Isaac, who keeps calling Theo ‘the fun sized chimera’, kind of sees him as Stiles’ plus one.

“Why are we here?” Stiles asks suddenly realizing that he should probably try to free himself from Theo’s grip. But he doesn’t. Instead they just rush through the bathing cabin. It’s empty, as is the swimming pool itself. The swim team trains late in the afternoon at about the same time as the lacrosse team begins – and if the timetable is still correct, nobody will be here for four hours.

Theo closes the door behind them not letting go of him. The rising sun spends enough light that they could see each other and their surroundings properly, yet it is still mildly creepy in here. Stiles guesses, part of that is the result of what happened with the kanima. Bad memories are always something Stiles tries to distance himself from.

“Water,” Theo explains, “Carries energy. We might be able to find other sparks this way.”

“I thought we can’t?”

“We don’t,” Theo pulls Stiles closer to the water, “You might.” The prospect of him using his powers seems to excite Theo to an extend that is slightly worrying.

Stiles opens his mouth, then closes it again. “How?” He asks eventually.

“Through tracking,” Theo replies kicking off his shoes.

“Tracking?”

Theo rolls his eyes, then curls his fingers into Stiles’ sweater and tugs. Stumbling forward, their distance dwindles and they are close again, as close as they were on the hospital’s rooftop. But this time, it has a different undertone – and Stiles can feel his heartbeat pick up. He is unable to hide it and the change in Theo’s expression speaks volumes.

“Get in the water.”

He feels a hand sneak into his sweater’s pocket. Stiles should’ve expected it but he has been distracted by the lack of space and the warmth of Theo’s fingers around his wrist.

He makes a small awkward sound, very close to a squeak, and plunges into the water back first. Its coldness wakes him up even further, clears the fog that curls around in his mind. He’s never been afraid of water but if he has the choice, he’ll stay out of it. This goes for pools since the night he had kept Derek afloat for multiple hours. Everything else feeds too much into his paranoia. He hates it when he can’t see what’s underneath him.

As Stiles surfaces, Theo is already in the pool as well.

“Elements,” He says with a smirk, “Heighten your abilities.”

Stiles splashes at him. “You’re an asshole.”

“I saved your phone.”

“Still utter trash.”

Theo rolls his eyes but follows as Stiles swims to the edge of the pool. Since he doesn’t intend on doing magic while swimming, he heaves himself out of the water with only his legs still inside. Theo, who has taken the time Stiles needed to get back to the surface to shimmy out of his jacket and shirt, smirks up at him.

“It’s better inside,” Theo says crossing his arms over the edge of the pool. With his head lowered onto them, he doesn’t look like your average asshole – more like a dude who tries to impress his crush with very nicely toned arms. Even without the supernatural strength Theo would be able to snap necks like other people bananas.

Stiles tugs on his wet sweater, disgusted. “I’m fine here, thanks.”

“Whatever you say, Stiles.” Okay, no. What the fuck is this new undertone in Theo’s voice? It’s creeping him out. Something is very wrong right about now and the fact that he doesn’t know what makes everything immensely more terrible.

Trying to shake the feeling away, Stiles narrows his eyes at Theo. “So, how do I track?”

“You focus on what you want to find.”

“You just told me I shouldn’t focus,” Stiles reminds him.

Theo pushes himself off the wall. “I think tracking shouldn’t be too hard,” He says nodding more to himself than to Stiles, “Also, the water will keep most of your power for itself. That’s why I said it’s better inside the water.”

Stiles glares at Theo but decides to agree with his words. Slowly, he lowers himself back into the pool, annoyed at the weight of his wet clothes trying to pull him down. After trying to find footing at the wall, he gets rid of his sneakers.

It’s going to be exciting to explain his father why exactly he’s wet to the bone.

Theo swims back to the edge and brackets him in with his arms to Stiles’ left and right. Again, he is uncomfortably close. Like this, Stiles doubts he can focus on anything at all. Especially since something is edging against his temple, an odd sensation of an emotion Theo’s displaying. He doesn’t know what, can’t tell – and it’s making everything worse additionally to his body almost pressing up against him.

“Is the lack of personal space necessary?” Stiles asks with a slightly higher pitches voice.

 _Fuck_ his mouth.

Really.

Theo grins. “Am I making you nervous?”

No. Yes. Maybe a little bit. But Stiles isn’t going to say anything out loud. Instead he settles on glaring at Theo while trying not to bite off his tongue. Not that it would actually help. Getting under his skin is Theo’s favorite spare-time activity. If Stiles keeps falling for it, he’s never going to stop. Every time he lets his anger slip out in the open, Theo basically drinks it all in. Which is exactly as creepy as it sounds.

“The tracking,” Stiles reminds him.

Theo grabs Stiles by the elbow with one hand and aligns their forearms, distance bigger again. Stiles does the same, carefully wrapping his fingers around the cool but soft skin. He can sense something just underneath, a strange thud like a pulse. But Stiles knows that it’s not Theo’s pulse. It’s not the right place, too fast now – almost like a buzzing.

“Do you feel that?” Theo’s voice is barely more than a hushed whisper. As Stiles nods, strangely mesmerized by it, Theo adds, “That’s my spark.” It’s strong. It’s so fucking strong. “Focus on it, _find_ them.”

“Why do you want to save those people?” Stiles asks squinting at Theo, “You don’t care.” A simple fact. Theo is someone who thinks about nothing but his very own benefit. Saving sparks doesn’t do anything for him _but_ become the object of hatred for three very immortal brothers. It’s not like he gains anything by helping Stiles.

The curve of Theo’s lip is almost wry. “No,” He agrees, “But you care.”  

That makes a lot of sense. Although Stiles knows that Theo has ulterior motives – he clearly wants Stiles to give power to him, after all, he desires to be an alpha. Still, he is strangely grateful. There have to be other ways to become an alpha. He could’ve killed Deucalion, surely, that asshole has enough power for a whole pack of alphas.

Ha.

Oh, the jokes.

“You can trust me, Stiles,” Theo says, “Please. Just-“ There is a sort of desperation in his voice that tugs at Stiles’ heartstrings. He should know better and he shouldn’t fall for it at all.

But he does.  

Stiles readjusts his grip on Theo’s forearm, tightening his fingers until his nails dig into the skin underneath his elbow. “I do,” He says and he means it, “For now.”

The buzzing grows strong enough that Stiles feels dizzy. He presses his eyes close, pointedly doesn’t look at Theo’s face and breathes in deep. But it’s not really helping. Stiles feels like a swarm of wasps has found residence in his ears – it’s not a physical sensation anymore. The sound is distracting, as are Theo’s fingers on his arm and the breath ghosting over his skin. They are close, _oh so close._ His wet clothes are uncomfortable and he can’t move properly with Theo caging him in like that.

Somewhere, a door creaks.

Startled, Stiles let’s go of Theo and looks around. The chimera has heard it as well because he heaves himself out of the pool. Stiles, who turns to follow only a second later, is pulled out by his shoulders and arms.

“Is that Isaac?” Stiles asks in a hushed voice.

Theo wraps an arm around his waist and pushes him behind his back, keeping him close, keeping him secure. “I don’t know.”

“What?” Stiles moves back until he hits a bench with his shins. “How do you not know?” His fingers find Theo’s wrist. It’s an automatic reaction; he’s done it with Lydia a couple times before. The steady pulse underneath the skin, it helps Stiles feel calmer. He knows Theo is here, Theo is real – and he knows he’ll be safe.

“The chlorine.” Theo hisses, “It’s-“

The vibration of a phone cuts the silence like a knife. Panicked, Stiles tries to make a run for it – because if Theo cannot catch a scent, then it’s not Isaac. Nobody knows they are at the pool in the first place. So, why come looking for them here? It doesn’t make any sense. Especially, if the chlorine hides their scents.

He has a bad feeling about this.

And he doesn’t seem to be the only one.  

Theo pushes him back and grabs his chin before Stiles can complain. Adamantly but silently, Theo shakes his head no then points to something behind Stiles. It’s a rack with utensils for the beginners swimming courses. But it’s positioned in front of a niche because whoever furnished this room had been dense enough to buy three of those racks without measuring first. Coach has had his rants about it more times Stiles could count. 

He nods.

As Theo breaks into a run – quick but quiet – Stiles squeezes through the little gap between wall and rack. Something rattles. But it doesn’t fall. Just as he is through, Theo is back reaching him his wet clothes and his phone. Stiles casts only a quick glance at it – three missed calls from Lydia, one from his father and Lydia is calling again – before he grabs Theo’s hand and helps him squeeze through.

“Make it stop-“ He gestures at the phone.

Stiles lets go of Theo and rejects the call, then puts the phone on silent.

The niche isn’t big enough for two people. As Theo is through, he’s right in Stiles’ face. They can’t move without jostling into the other. “Shit.” Stiles hears Theo mutter and his breath hits his chin. They are pressed flat against each other, the wall on one and the rack on the other side. This isn’t an ideal situation. Maybe his ADHD has gotten a little better over the time but being _forced_ not to move is only counter-acting. He already can feel the desire to fidget.

“ _Stiles_ ,” Theo hisses as Stiles moves and their knees bump.

“Sorry.” He inclines his head to look down at his phone again, temple pressed against Theo’s cheek. Like this, he can feel the chimera go completely rigid against him. Quickly, he flicks through his phone and opens his messages – he needs to tell them where they are. Lydia _has_ to know. Because, if Stiles is sure of something, he knows something bad is going down. He doesn’t know how, can’t grasp a proper reason but he trusts his instincts.

Lydia told him to.

Another door, a lot closer now, opens quietly just as his display darkens. Theo presses even further against Stiles, as if his body alone would serve as a shield.

“Little nemeton boy.” The voice is low, a chuckle. It belongs to a young man not much older than Theo and Stiles. But it’s terrifying. There is something dark in it, sociopathic. He sounds like Stiles had during his possession. The demonic joy at something terrible that is about to happen.

Someone sniggers. “Come out, come out.” It’s another voice but with the same sound to it.

“Yes, yes,” The first man says again, “We know you’re here.” He singsongs the last word in a way that makes Stiles shudder.

Theo presses closer. Their bodies are perfectly aligned from head to toe. One of his hands finds Stiles’ neck and he tugs him down, just the slightest bit. Shuddering again, Stiles follows the implication and hides his face against the crook of Theo’s neck. He doesn’t say anything but the proximity helps. Despite everything that happened, everything that Theo did, his presence is a safe-haven.

It shouldn’t be because this kind of trust gives Theo too much power over him.

“Little nemeton boy,” The first man coos again, “Don’t you hide from us.”

“We’ll find you,” The second guy adds giggling.

Stiles moves, lifts his head to look at Theo. _Two_ , he mouths knowing the chimera can see it despite the bad lighting, _Where is the third_?

As if on cue, the rack is torn from its position and smashes against the opposite wall with an earsplitting sound. Theo pushes Stiles against the wall immediately, shielding him with a low but aggressive snarl. No matter how amusing Isaac thinks Theo’s size is, right now the chimera looks like deadliest creature in all of Beacon Hills.

“I remember you.” It’s the guy who attacked them at the university, the terrible fake Jackson. His brothers – they possessed a family, Stiles realizes in a stupor – flank him with the widest, most manic grins he has ever seen; and he’s seen a lot of big bads in a psychotic moment. “You broke my neck.”

A snarl is all he gets for an answer.

“He thinks he can take us,” The first guy says madly excited. _Dumbass_ , since when is it a good idea to poke a feral – and possibly lethal – animal with a stick? Magic powers or no magic powers, Theo isn’t to underestimate.

“Take him,” Wannabe-Jackson nods at Stiles, “Kill the fleabag.”

He disappears with a snap of his fingers – like those really bad villains in horrible horror movies – and leaves Stiles and Theo with his idiot brothers. Dumbass and Dipshit look at each other as if they’ve just won the jackpot at a raffle.

“Who do you want?” Dipshit asks not even trying to hide his madness.

Stiles leans forward, lips pressed against the shell of Theo’s ear. “Sick’em, boy.”

And he does. With an impressive roar, Theo launches himself forward. He has his hand raised for an attack, claws out – and Stiles sees it. He can perfectly imagine how sharp claws dig into the side of Dipshit’s throat ripping open skin and aorta before tearing out the larynx, the way the light will go out in those brownish-grey eyes and his mouth will fall open in surprise.

It doesn’t happen.

Theo is hurled against Stiles like a wrecking ball. A sharp agonizing pain indicates the exact moment more than one of his ribs snaps in two. He screams as his world explodes in a cascade of pure and brutal pain. His entire world narrows down to his chest – he can’t breathe, he can’t – Stiles falls to the side, one arm tightly pressed against his chest. He faintly remembers being beaten up by Gerard as he had been kidnapped just like Erika and Boyd. But _this_ pain is different.

“Stiles-“

He can hear Theo through the blood rushing in his ears. There’s a touch on his cheek, then his neck. The pain keeps him occupied, keeps him caged in this dark place. He’s flickering in and out of conscious – then suddenly, someone pulls at his arm and evokes a tidal wave of agony. Again, he wails in pain.

A roar as loud as a thunder, then someone else curses. “Kill the mongrel,” The man closest to Stiles hisses through gritted teeth. Theo managed to hurt him. He managed to _fight back_.

Despite the horrendous pain, Stiles manages to somehow get to his feet.

“Oh, no-“ Someone grabs his arm again – “Where do you think you’re going?” He’s spun around. His vision blurs at the pain. Just barely, he can make out the shape of Dipshit right in front of him. “I’m not done with you.”

Before Stiles can react, something is slammed into his arm, deep enough that it hits bone. He screams again – and for a second, he thinks about begging them to stop. The pain is too much. He can’t stand, he can’t breathe. Now his arm his cut open with something dull.

But Theo slams against Dipshit’s side, teeth sinking into his upper arm. Stiles is pushed away – and slips on the wet ground. His world tilts, loses focus.

Then the back of his head hits the edge of the pool.

The last thing he hears is Theo screaming.


	7. Bad Moon Rising

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just thought of jumping in to say THANK YOU. I love reading your comments and I'm so happy about every single kudo. You guys make my day. <3

The first thing he feels, as he wakes up, is a hand in his. Gently, he squeezes the fingers. The movement is uncomfortable, like his muscles aren’t used to this kind of movement.

He opens his eyes. The room, he is in, is unfamiliar. White ceiling and walls, a queen-size bed in the middle of it. Something is beeping, it sounds a lot like a heartbeat monitor. The one you’d have in a hospital.

A hospital room?

As the panic threatens to surface, his memory kicks in. The swimming pool. They were attacked by their problem of the week. Theo was able to fight them off, must have been. He doesn’t remember much after his head was slammed against the tiles – and it’s doubtable he would still be alive if Theo hadn’t been there to protect him yet again.

He lets his head roll to the side and spots Lydia sleeping there grasping his hand as if she is worried he might disappear as soon as she lets go. With her hair put in a high bun, no make-up on and that grey too big sweater she looks like she hasn’t left the room in quite some time.

On the other side of his bed, Stiles finds his father sitting in a chair. He’s awake but the dark shadows under his eyes and his rumpled uniform tell a different story. Upon seeing Stiles watching him, his expression clears, eyes lighting up in a way only happiness could make them do. “Hey-“ He leans forward and puts a hand on Stiles upper arm- “How are you feeling, kiddo?”

“Okay- _ish_ ,” Stiles replies his voice hoarse enough that he barely recognizes it.

“Good,” John says nodding in obvious relief, “As soon as you’re home, you are grounded for the rest of your life.”

Stiles scoffs but the sound hurts his throat enough that he starts coughing – and that doesn’t really reduce the overall pain.

Lydia startles, immediately awake enough that she helps him sit up while his father offers him something to drink. With shaking fingers, he takes the cup – and freezes. Something black is carved into his skin. Dark black lines cover most of his skin in a complicated pattern, not like the one he’s seen while trying to get the nemeton to talk. It looks remotely like a three, with a sharp top and a bulky bottom, reaching from his wrist down to his elbow. There is a second line, curling around its shape in irregular width.

The beeping quickens.

“Stiles-“ Lydia starts.

Panicked, he drops the cup and rips out the IV line, then what connects him to the monitor. His heartbeat sound goes flat in an instant, an alarm ringing to loud in his ears. His father tries to grab him, but Stiles slaps both his hands away hastily. He needs to check- he has to check if that thing is the only tattoo that appeared on his body.

Lydia tries to calm him again. Her words are a buzzing mess that doesn’t make any kind of sense to him.

He gets out of bed, stumbling as his knees refuse to properly support him. Scott keeps him upright but Stiles pushes him away as well, barely acknowledging his presence at all. Two steps later Stiles hits the bathroom door with his shoulder. It flies open as he pushes the handle down. It’s a miracle that he doesn’t break his neck on the tiles.

The light from outside isn’t enough to illuminate the room.

Stiles pushes himself away from the door and towards the sink. Fumbling for the light switch, he tries not to fall into a panic. But breathing gets significantly harder the longer it takes.

Then, finally, he finds the switch.

Staring back at him is his very own reflection, pale and ill-looking – a dead man walking. But that’s nothing he intends to worry about for too long. Almost immediately, he finds another tattoo; this time on his neck. It’s a simple circle, nothing special. Just like the other mark, it has another thick black line curled around it.

“Stiles?”

He doesn’t know if he wants to laugh or scream. But being hysterical isn’t going to help him – and it’s not the fact that there are suddenly tattoos on his body he doesn’t remember ordering sending him on the edge of the hysteria chasm. Seriously, it could be worse. What makes him antsy and very, _very_ worried are the implications to this change.

Stiles breathes in deep, then hides his face in his hands.

Someone comes into the bathroom, on light feet, and wraps their arms around his waist. It’s odd, how well he knows her by now, that he recognizes her by the way she moves – most notably without the clicking of her high heels. Lydia presses her lips to his temple, this time not leaving behind a familiar stain of lipstick.

“Why me?” Stiles asks dancing between gallows humour and resignation, “My body isn’t virginal. Something’s been in here before.” He gestures up and down his sides. This isn’t even remotely funny anymore. God, what did he do wrong in his life that thousands of years old ghost think his body is a great vessel for them? Sighing, he feels the resignation kick in.

Lydia tightens her grip for a moment. “I wish I could take it from you.”

“No,” Stiles whispers pressing his eyes close, “No, you don’t.” And he wouldn’t want anybody else to suffer through a possession. Especially not someone like Lydia; being the target of a possible possession is something he would not wish upon his biggest enemy.

“Everything’s going to be fine,” Lydia says.

“ _Right_.”

Stiles opens his eyes again, childishly hoping the marks have left his skin. His reflection smirks and waves, eyes black and soulless. He flinches, startling Lydia with this movement – and then the image in the mirror is normal, showing nothing else but what’s true. Great, above all things he’s going completely insane.

Well, if it _is_ insanity.

“You should sit down,” Scott says from where he is standing in the doorway.

“Yeah,” Stiles agrees, “I probably should.”

Lydia smiles at him, her hands carefully readjusting so that she can support him without it being too obvious. They move back to the bedroom, where Stiles can finally have a look around. It’s mostly empty, spare of any decorations – the typical hospital room. He’s had enough of those for a lifetime. Funny, how he’s always coming back here. Maybe the Stilinskis should just rent a fucking room here. By now it’s like they fund the goddamn hospital.

And where is Theo? Now, that he is awake and calm enough to properly take in the room, he’s noticed the chimera’s absence like a punch to the gut. Why isn’t he here? Honestly, Stiles has expected him to be here when he wakes up. He thought that he might want to know how he feels, and if everything is okay and that jazz. But Theo seems to have better things to do than waiting for Stiles to regain consciousness.

How long has he been out anyway?  

Stiles notices his father smiling. Scrutinising his face critically, he asks, “What?”

“I just remember how much I hated that we talked about supernatural sacrifices instead of your intimate private life,” John says sounding far more amused than the situation allows – it sounds a lot like the same resignation Stiles feels as well, “And after what I heard in the bathroom I wish we could go back to that.” Yeah, first they hoped the murder was committed by a regular serial killer, now they would take human sacrifices over awkward conversations. They definitely are related.

But Stiles is too stunned by the implication that he’s not quite able to comprehend it. “Dad, I don’t-“ He snaps his mouth shut, shifting uncomfortably on the bed- “I never had-“ Okay, why exactly is it so fucking uncomfortable to talk about sex with his father? It’s stupid. They’ve done it before… or rather, they have talked about the lack thereof. “I’m still a virgin.”

Stiles pointedly doesn’t look at anybody in the room, instead he focuses on the black tattoo on his left forearm. It’s made out of thick lines drawn by someone who knows exactly what he’d done. It would be great if Stiles knew _what_ exactly it is supposed to mean – and who he has gotten it from.

As he glances at his father, John looks at him in utter puzzlement. “You never-?”

“Nope.”

“Oh, thank _god_.”

Affronted, Stiles stares at his father but before he can complain about the very inappropriate happiness, Deaton steps into the room. “In your case,” He says in his usual slightly detached way of talking, “That’s unfavourable.”

“Do you have to kill the mood?”

Deaton ignores Stiles’ hateful behaviour. “But irrelevant as well, considering the nogitsune created a new body for you,” He keeps on explaining and sounds a lot like a bored history teacher at a very special school located somewhere in the Highlands of Scotland, “Virginity is always linked to enhance dark magic. That, additionally to your connection to the nemeton and the void, you are most likely the only vessel capable of containing a magic like Carman’s.”

Stiles gestures in Deaton’s direction. “Oh look, another useless fucking information.”

“Stiles-“ His father warns.

“No, seriously,” Stiles interrupts him crossly, “What did we gain from that?” Although he pauses, he doesn’t expect an answer – and everyone in the room seems to be aware of it. “Correct. _Nothing_!” He throws his hands in the air, ignoring the uncomfortable ache in his chest. Right, he had a couple of fractured ribs. Confused, he adds, “I mean, what – do I solve the problem with sex? Am I less appealing after I did the dirty?” How long was he out that his ribs are fine? Doesn’t that usually take, like, six months to heal?

“Deaton is just trying to help,” Scott tries to soothe.

Stiles shoots him a dirty look. “Whatever you say, Alpha McCa- oh, _wait_.” The hurt crossing over Scott’s face is surprisingly satisfying. Stiles wonders if he knows, or if his general assumption is that he sucks as an alpha and for that reason lost his powers. Which wouldn’t be entirely untrue. “Anything else that isn’t going to help me?” Stiles asks looking at Deaton again since Scott doesn’t have anything else to say.

The veterinarian keeps quiets.

Stiles doesn’t dare looking at his father.

“Good, because I have a couple questions,” Stiles starts without hesitation, “How long was I out because I remember distinctly how much it hurt as my ribs broke.”

Scott crosses and uncrosses his arms. “Almost two days.”

Two days. _Two days_. His ribs shouldn’t be healed at all. He should feel more than just a bit of ache in his chest. He should still be in a lot of pain after the impact basically broke his whole ribcage. But he is okay – and somehow, he guesses that’s because of those goddamn marks on his body. He doesn’t want to know how many there are he hasn’t seen yet.

“Noted.” Stiles rubs his forehead trying to get his thoughts together. “Where’s Theo?” He would be here. If everything was fine, he would be sitting at his bed with that smug expression of his because he saved his ass - again. So, yes. His absence bothers him; especially because it doesn’t make any goddamn sense.

“Maybe you should ask Scott,” Lydia answers sounding surprisingly resenting.

Stiles squints, then turns to face Scott to follow her instructions. “Where is Theo?” He asks voice intentionally sharp, “You do remember that he is here _with me_?” Maybe Scott has forgotten what exactly that means. They had made a pact with each other when they had been a lot younger; they had promised that they would never be an asshole to the other ones’ friend or acquaintance. He really, _really_ though Scott would take his word for it. That Theo is here under Stiles’ protection should count for a lot more than a raised eyebrow.  

Also, Beacon Hills isn’t his territory anymore.

“We banned him from the hospital,” Scott answers.

“You _banned_ him?”

“He killed Josh and Tracy!” Scott explains loudly. “He killed _me_!”

Stiles glares at him from where he sits. _Yes_ , it was wrong. Murder is always wrong – and trying to kill people because of power? _Oh boy_ , Stiles can say a thing or two about that. For example: “Ethan and Aiden held Derek’s claws while Kali impaled Boyd. The only reason they never made it pack was because Isaac and I disagreed. But they _changed_.” They saw their mistakes and made up for it. Derek had forgiven them slowly while they fought side by side to get Stiles’ back. They changed, they redeemed themselves. Although Stiles had hoped it wouldn’t result in death.

“Theo isn’t capa-“

“You never found out because you thought screwing him over with Deucalion was the way to go!” Stiles’ voice rose, as do his anger and heartbeat. He can feel it clawing at his skin from the inside and demanding to be let out. Now that he is aware of it, it’s so easy to keep it on the inside, to keep it for something else. “And then,” Stiles continues as Scott opens his mouth for a reply, “ _Then_ you send him to hell.”

“That were Kira and the Skinwalkers.”

“You didn’t exactly try to stop her,” Stiles snarls, “And she feels bad about it. Do you?”

Scott doesn’t reply.

Stiles can’t say he is surprised.

“They have a scent!” Mason pushes past Deaton waving his phone in the air like a caught snitch. “They have Theo’s scent. Hey, _woah_.” He stops and double takes. “Stiles, you’re awake.” It sounded more like _alive_ but Stiles decides that there are more important things to be done right now.

“Tell them to wait,” He orders getting to his feet a second time.

“I think you should rest,” John says sternly from behind him, although he should know that Stiles is as immobile in his decisions as himself.

Lydia tugs at his hand. “Are you sure you can do that?”

“Yes,” Stiles replies curtly. Well, he is mostly sure. Moving is slightly dizzying. But that’s to be expected after two days of unconsciousness – he can’t wait to get rid of those occult marks. But that’s something to be worried about when Theo is back with them; safe and sound are to be preferred. “He saved my life,” Stiles adds even more persistent as nobody reacted.

Scott crossed his arms unsurprisingly unsatisfied with this statement.

“We don’t know that,” Lydia says quietly looking up at Stiles with worry lining her features, “When Isaac found you, Theo was unconscious in a pool of what was presumably his own blood. You were a crumpled mess on the floor. Neither of you looked like you’d been able to do anything.”

Stiles frowns down at her. “What happened?”

“We don’t know.” Lydia brushes a wisp of hair out of her eyes. “Theo doesn’t tell.”

“Of course, he doesn’t tell!” Scott throws his hands in the air. Mason flinches back in surprise. “He’ll be _using_ this information against you.”

“So?” Stiles shrugs curling his lips into an ever so small smirk “Even more reason to find and take the leverage away from him.”

Scott steps in his way. “I won’t let you run headfirst into danger.” As adorable as his misplaced heroism is, right now it only fuels Stiles’ anger. It curls inside him waiting to strike.

“Get out of my way.”

Scott stands his ground with a surprising amount of determination. “No.” He should’ve showed that as Theo told him lies about how Donovan had been killed. Instead he’s fallen for Theo’s crocodile tears.

“I said, get out of my way,” Stiles repeats forcing a false layer of calm to surround him like a safety blanket.

“And I said _no_ ,” Scott replies stubbornly, “Stiles, you are my best friend.” Stiles feels as if someone punched him in the gut. Best friends? They were so much more than that. _Brothers_ , a family that didn’t need any blood. “Theo is dangerous. He will hurt you eventually, and I won’t let that happen.”

“I’m not going to repeat myself.”

“Scott,” Deaton says sounding a little less calm and detached than before, “I wouldn’t recommend to stand between a void and his pack.”

Mason seems to realise in that exact moment where he is. With something akin to a suppressed squeal, he jumps away from the door and stumbles into the bathroom. Scott, however, looks from Deaton to Stiles and back again. “Theo isn’t Stiles’ pack,” He says then, “Stiles would never-“

“I’m afraid,” Deaton interrupts him urgently, “Who does and who doesn’t belong to Stiles’ pack isn’t entirely his own decision anymore.”

Scott stares at Stiles and he sees it all, sees what he is now and what he used to be, sees where their relationship is and where it should be instead. It’s so painfully clear in his expression that Stiles can feel his throat clog up. He can sense the hurt Scott is feeling like a dim burn somewhere in the back of his mind. He pushes it away. And that’s what their friendship became, a mosaic of broken pieces in the middle of a battle ground. They both have the means for repair at hand but they are on opposing sides. One too blinded by his own holy light to see the darkness that is left in his wake. The other too far down the rabbit hole that the cracks in his body leak destruction; and he doesn’t see anything wrong with it.

“I _will_ get through that door,” Stiles says quietly, “The only question will be how.”

Scott growls, a low sound that barely reaches Stiles’ ears – then he steps away.

 

Liam and Isaac are waiting at the edge of the woods. Isaac, with his arms crossed over his chest, is leaning against a wall like the cool guy he pretends to be but really isn’t. Liam is crouching on the floor like the puppy he is. They both look up when his father’s car comes down the path. Liam jumps to his feet in something that seems almost akin to excitement.

“Are you and Scott going to be okay?” His father asks just as Stiles opens the door.

He hesitates, worry gnawing at his insides. “I don’t know,” Stiles replies honestly. All the promises they’ve made, all the shit they’ve gone through. It doesn’t mean anything as long as Scott chooses to trust everybody but Stiles. This isn’t how their friendship works. This isn’t who they are as a team.

“I know you will do the right thing.” John squeezes his shoulder tightly; a reassurance for his unwavering support.

It’s everything Stiles needs to stop him from breaking apart as well. “Thanks, dad.”

Isaac pushes himself off the tree as Stiles stumbles out of the car. “Well, someone looks _alive_ ,” He announces with a grin while Liam just stares at him.

Isaac props his arm on Stiles’ head sighing like he carries the weight of the world in his shoulders. “Can I write on your body too?” Isaac asks wriggling his eyebrows. Stiles elbows him in the ribs. “Ow.” The werewolf rubs his ribs with a scowl. “Dude, there’s a lot of oomph in that tiny body of yours.”

“I’ll oomph you more if you don’t get your arm off my head,” Stiles warns.

Isaac cackles and ruffles his hair before he steps away.

Liam blinks again, opens his mouth. For a second it looks like he wants to say something but then he shakes his head – obviously remembering that Isaac and Stiles are familiar with each other. It’s weird to say that the two of them have a history. It may have been slightly rocky and strewn with a couple of insults. But it is a history nonetheless, and Stiles wouldn’t want to miss it.

“How do you-“ Liam decides to begin eventually- “How do you get rid of that?” He gestures in the general direction his neck.

“We don’t know yet,” Stiles answers shrugging, “First, we need to find Theo, then we can work through the other problems.”

“Other problems? _Plural_?” Isaac raises a brow.

“We can talk while we walk, right?”

Liam nods, then starts moving. It’s a quick pace, just short of jogging but not hectic. They don’t seem to smell any blood or seem to worry about danger, otherwise they would hurry a little more. Isaac seems almost relaxed in the way he keeps Stiles’ exact pace – which is good; it was never fun to keep up with the taller werewolf.

“You already found him, didn’t you?”

Guiltily, Liam nods and slows down to walk on Stiles’ other side. There is no need to keep up the charade anymore. “He’s fine,” He adds as an afterthought, “But he refused to come with us.”

“Why?” Stiles glances at Liam.

“That,” Isaac says rolling his eyes, “He wouldn’t tell.”

_Great_. Mysteries. As if Theo’ didn’t make his own life hard enough already, now he’s keeping secrets which doesn’t necessarily help his trustworthiness. In his position, he should be more honest and open – or at least construct a proper believable lie. This bullshit is only going to make things more complicated. _Rules_ , Stiles reminds himself. There have to be rules. Number one is no lying. Or wait- maybe number one should be no killing and maiming unless absolutely necessary; whatever absolutely necessary might be.

“Your problems?” Isaac asks expectantly.

Liam glances at him curiously.

“I can skip the obvious one?” Stiles gestures up and down his body. Isaac gives him an unamused look. “ _Fine_.” But he really doesn’t want to talk about the virgin part, like _at all_. He knows Isaac hasn’t been a virgin for quite a while now and Liam is sexually active with Hayden; which _great_ , really. He’s so happy for everyone who is capable of having the nerve for sex while the world burns down around them. “There are certain aspects that heighten my appeal for possession.”

“You mean besides the runes?” Liam asks stepping over a root posing as a tripping hazard.

“You mean,” Isaac echoes Liam chuckling as if he were to say the most ridiculous thing, “like virginity?”

Stiles stays quiet for a second, then: “Also, my ties to the nemeton should be cut.”

Isaac comes to a stop, almost stutter stepping as if he isn’t sure whether he actually wants to. “Wait, _what_?”

Stiles halts too, although very unwilling.

Liam looks from Isaac to Stiles and back again.

“What _what_?”

Isaac assesses him. “You guys never slept with each other?”

“It wouldn’t have felt right, y’know,” Stiles explains feeling uncomfortably with the whole situation, “I mean, she wasn’t a human for that long, so-“ He shrugs – “Besides, I didn’t intend to be ripped to shreds in case she lost control.” And he didn’t really found herself _that_ attractive. This whole relationship was a terrible mistake, in which she used him to stay connected to humanity and he used her to forget about, well, everything that sucked majorly.

Isaac stares at him as if he thinks Stiles lost his marbles. “ _Who_ are you talking about?”

“Malia?” How much does Isaac know exactly about what happened after he left?

Isaac barks out a laugh.

Stiles isn’t quite sure he knows why. Liam doesn’t look any less confused as Stiles glances at him for help.

Smirking again, Isaac throws an arm around Stiles’ shoulders and pulls him close. Liam hops to catch up with them as they continue walking. “If you ever need help with that virginity problem,” He says tapping Stiles’ collarbone with middle- and ring finger, “I’d help. Now that-“

“You _know_ I’m a virgin?” Stiles asks exasperatedly. He pushes Isaac away, whose expression changes quicker from smirking to confused puppy and back again than Jackson would take offense at mentioning the wrong car company.

“Now that I know you did not sleep with my alpha,” Isaac finishes his sentence rolling his eyes as if Stiles is completely overreacting in his opinion. Listen, since Danny, he’s got serious trust issues. “Because that would be like sleeping with a parent’s ex-lover.” It’s so easy to forget that Isaac is – although very awkward when it comes down to romantic feelings – pretty unimpressed by gender in terms of attraction.

Liam officially gapes at Isaac, mouth open and eyes wide.

“I know I said Scott’s the hot girl,” Stiles answers reluctantly still very confused as to how exactly he managed to manoeuvre himself into this peculiar and very awkward situation, “But that doesn’t mean I slept with him – you didn’t even hear the whole conversation!”

“And here I thought you’re the smart one,” Isaac deadpans.

Stiles follows him irritated. Everything would be easier if the guy named whoever he is tal- “ _Derek_?” He asks as realisation hits him in the face. It has always been pretty obvious that the pack had their suspicions – but the full fletched believe that he and Derek were... no fucking way. Had Derek known? Or had it just been a rumour floating around between the betas? Must be. Otherwise Derek would have said something. Then again, it’s _Derek._ Communication isn’t his strong suit.

“The loft was full with your scent,” Isaac replies scrunching up his nose at the memory, “As was Derek. On some days, I was sure he bathed with Stiles’ fragranced soap.”

Stiles shoots him a narrow-eyed look. “You just fucking assumed?”

“You’d rather I asked him?” Isaac responds immediately, “How do you think that would have worked out?” Good point. “Mr. Emotionally Constipated would’ve made everything awkward. Especially after what went down with that Darach chick.” _Even better point_.

Stiles sighs audibly. “Good thing we have that out of the way.” And will never talk about it ever. Because if Isaac is right about one thing, it’s about how awkward it would be to sleep with him. It didn’t particularly matter how far away from an intimate relationship Derek and he have been.  

Liam, finally, makes a sound. It’s a choked chuckle that results in Isaac and Stiles looking at him with raised brows. “You should take the chance,” He says gesturing in their direction with a small grin, “I mean, you’re a nineteen-year-old virgin and it’s dangerous if you stay like that, isn’t it?”

“First of all-“ Stiles points at Liam aggravatedly – “I’m eighteen. Secondly, how much sex do you think you’ll get once your girlfriend finds out you’re helping Theo?”

“I’m not helping Theo,” Liam responds immediately, “I’m helping you.”

“Yes, you’re helping me helping Theo.”

The smugness drains from his face. Liam opens his mouth for a reply, then closes it with an audible sound. Pretty sure, he’s muttering a curse under his breath. A second later, Liam kicks an innocent stone, which really didn’t do anything to harm him, and walks further into the woods.

Isaac and Stiles lock eyes.

“Is he the petulant child of the pack?”

Stiles cocks his head. “That’s one way to phrase it,” He replies nodding along to his words.

Isaac snorts but sets out to follow Liam, who stomps through the forest as if it personally offended him. Honestly, Stiles expected Isaac to reach out to Scott now that he is back to Beacon Hills. But the distant way he behaved as they found the dead body and how little he knows about Liam or Malia tells a different story. “Surprised you’re not up to date on everything that happened here.”

“I didn’t really come back for drama,” Isaac admits glancing at him out of the corner of his eye.

Liam slows his walk, obviously curious enough to ignore his bad temper.

“And so, you kept your distance to Scott?”

“Not necessarily, no,” Isaac replies rubbing the back of his head, “I went to him to announce I’m back. It’s what you do when you enter another pack’s territory but, well- he isn’t an alpha anymore and it’s not like we’ve parted on the best of terms.” True. Guilt claws its way up and down Stiles’ body. He wishes it’s because he brought up a subject that makes Isaac’s aura spark with sadness. Although everyone tried to calm him down, Stiles never stopped blaming himself for her death. “Without him being an alpha I didn’t feel the need to stick around, although I wished someone would’ve encouraged me. I needed a week to finally talk to Jordan.”

Stiles wants to tell Isaac that he could call him whenever he need someone to talk to. But it doesn’t feel like the right time. “How’d you find out about him?” He asks instead. All everybody knew is that Camden Lahey died in combat and that had left Isaac alone with the man who purported to be his father.

“I needed to find closure,” Isaac replies determinedly, “I made Danny hack into the military database.”

“ _Danny_?”

“Yeah, he’s with Jackson in London,” Isaac explains, “I met them at random. So, I took the chance. Anyway, I barely remembered how Camden looked since we hadn’t had any pictures in our house. At first I was very confused as Jordan Parrish stared back at us. Danny double-checked everything.” He shrugs stepping over a root Stiles failed to see. “I printed everything, packed my shit and came back. He doesn’t remember a lot about his past and I want to forget mine. We agreed on getting to know each other without our histories.”

Stiles smiles as the sadness in Isaac’s aura is replaced with happiness. If someone deserves to have a bright future full of perfect family gatherings, it’s him.

“I was lost without a pack,” Isaac admits but his voice is light, almost bubbly as he continues talking, “Having Jordan feels good. Although I didn’t expect my brother to be a hellhound.”

This time Stiles barks out a laugh. “Yeah, well- nobody did.”

“Let me guess-“ Isaac leans toward him grinning – “You distrusted him at one point in time.”

Before Stiles is able to reply – seriously, he doesn’t trust anybody from the get-go – Liam howls in pain. Audibly cursing this time, he presses both hands to his nose and jumps around in a circle. Did he run into a fucking tree?

“What the hell?”

“Wolfsbane,” Liam whimpers.

“Seriously?” Stiles rolls his eyes, “First you fell in a hole and now you smack into a goddamn wall of wolfsbane.”

Liam glares at him, offended. But there isn’t any anger surrounding him. He’s embarrassed at the reminder – and he tries to hide it by furiously rubbing his nose.

Isaac stops dead in his tracks. “That’s new,” He says not acknowledging Liam even in the slightest, “But smart.”

“Yeah, well,” Stiles mutters squinting at the barely visible line of wolfsbane in the grass, “He wouldn’t have been able to screw over everybody if he had the intelligence of a cooked potato.”

“He didn’t trick you,” Isaac guesses.

Stiles smirks, “I’m smarter.” And evenly skilled in terms of manipulations; but let’s not ruin that compliment.

Without waiting for an answer, he crosses the line of wolfsbane leaving the other werewolves behind. Neither Liam nor Isaac seem particularly happy about the fact but they don’t say anything either. Crossing his arms, Isaac watches his every step. Liam still rubs his nose but he keeps his eyes on Stiles as well.

“Theo?” He raps his knuckles against the wooden door. “Theo, it’s me.” Even before he has finished the sentence, Stiles feels stupid for saying it out loud. How the _fuck_ wouldn’t Theo know that it’s him? He probably heard him from a mile away. Sighing, he wraps his fingers around the knob and open its. Creaking, wood slides over wood.

Despite himself, Stiles shudders at the sound. Although it is still light and early in the day, he feels peculiar out here in the middle of the goddamn forest.

The whole hut looks terrible; or maybe it’s just the single light bulb that gives sparse lighting. The single small window and the dark boarding don’t help. The tiny fridge is half open, empty. The oven has seen better days; it’s not necessarily dirty but Stiles wouldn’t risk cooking anything with it. There’s clothes strewn everywhere, as well as a couple of empty fast food containers. Beside the mattress is a small yet neat stack of books, next to it an open notebook with a pen. The mattress looks uncomfortable as fuck, not to mention the sad excuse of a blanket.  

“I heard you,” Theo greets him with a scowl.

“Then you heard me compliment your intelligence,” Stiles says carefully. He doesn’t know what happened at the pool, and the anger surrounding the chimera makes him anxious. When they’ve been together, Theo has rarely been anything but smug and annoyingly cocksure about himself. He wonders at whom the anger is directed at.

“No,” Theo says assessing him closely, “I recognized your heartbeat.”

Stiles opens his mouth, closes it, then opens it again squinting at him. “I don’t know if that’s sweet or creepy.”

Theo smirks, _finally_ , and gets up from the very uncomfortable looking mattress he must have been sleeping on. “Take it as a compliment,” He says smugly converting into the person Stiles feels comfortable around, “I don’t care enough about most people.”

Stiles bites his bottom lip with narrowed eyes. There is something meaningful behind the purposeful fuckboy-behaviour. The smirk on Theo’s lips is almost reminiscent of a predator closing in on its prey. It’s a look Stiles squirms away from. “You came for me?”

“You’ve been here for how long?” Stiles asks ignoring Theo’s question. He pushes the door behind him closed and leans against it, cutting of his only means of escape. “Because it looks as if you’ve been living here for at least two weeks.”

Theo scoffs. “Day and a half ago.” He replies dragging his eyes over the mark on Stiles’ neck. Slow and intense, like fingers over too sensitive skin. “After they banned me, I gathered everything useful from the Dread Doctors’ lab.”  

Stiles shudders unintentionally.

“Surprised they managed to keep you away.” His own voice is quiet instead of mocking like he intended it to be.

Theo stops only a few inches in front of him. His presence forcing itself against Stiles like two magnets snapping together. “Wanna see you when they threaten to send you back to Hell,” He says and the distance is dwindling enough that Stiles feels the need to straighten, to make known that he is taller than Theo. “You saw how it was for me.”

“They would need Kira for that,” Stiles reminds him firmly.

“It’s not like she hasn’t done it before.”

“Oh Theo,” Stiles drawls, “Since when are you scared of empty threads?”

Theo snarls slamming both hands against the wood, caging Stiles in effectively like this. Instead of saying anything, he stares him down, anger flaring in yellow eyes. Ego has always been a weak point of him, slowly Stiles begins to believe it’s got something to do with being a werewolf.

Stiles pushes against his chest but Theo doesn’t give in, if anything he presses closer again. “You’re with me now,” He says ever so quietly, “You’re under my protection.”

“I don’t _need_ your protection,” Theo spits.

“Listen to me-” Stiles grabs his chin tightly, nails digging into stubble and skin, “You don’t have to be afraid of anything.” His words are quiet but firm. Theo’s spark is vibrating through his body like a high-voltage power line. “Do you want to know why?” It’s not like he waits for an answer, and Theo is aware of that too. He waits for Stiles to continue, edging just a little closer, drinking in every single syllable leaving Stiles’ lips. “Because you are the _first chimera_. Everyone else died where you survived. And with that you are the Dread Doctors’ most profound _success_.”


	8. The Corner of Bitter and Sweet

“You need to work on your defence.” Stiles flinches as Theo flops in his bedroom – as per usual through the window. It seems to be an invitation for supernatural creatures once it is open. They have to work on that.

“How so?” He gets up from the bed, feeling something shift in the air. Determination, maybe. He isn’t good at telling apart the different pings for emotions. It’s easy when a single emotion overpowers everything but Theo’s spectrum confuses him; too much for a generic situation like this.

“You need to have your arms higher.” Theo curls his fingers around Stiles’ wrists possessively and raises his arms. “Like this,” He says as they are level with his eyes and nose, “And closer to your face. But not too close.” Theo steps right into his personal space. “It’s harder to break defence now,” He whispers and Stiles closes his eyes, trying to concentrate. “And you can easily fight back like this.” But he gets distracted by how low Theo’s voice is and how close they are staying and everything that is Theo.

Then, barely a heartbeat later, Stiles’ calves hit the bed. He falls back and Theo follows, still holding onto his wrists, caging him in with his arms and body – a sure weight on top of him. There is a silence and again the play between dark and light, a shadow verse Stiles hasn’t dared to acknowledge before it was already looming over them.

They breathe into each other. Stiles feels his own body relax underneath Theo, feels his legs fall open without resistance.

“You're mine,” Theo whispers.

Stiles wants to says something back, wants to deny it. He doesn’t belong to anybody but himself. He doesn’t want to belong to anybody but himself. This is not how it works, this is not how it should be. The wrongness of the sentence carves something new on the inside of his skin, burns itself through his ribcage and leaves a mark somewhere he could never get rid of it easily.

As the silence continues, Theo ducks down. He nudges their noses together. Ever so gently. Asking for permission. Theo inclines his head to run his lips over Stiles’ cheekbone, up to the corner of his eye. It’s the ghost of a touch, so light Stiles isn’t quite sure if Theo’s lips are really touching his skin. The intensity of everything only gets stronger as he closes his eyes.

Stiles shudders, half embarrassed by how little Theo needs to do to captivate Stiles’ attention; of Theo’s hands around his wrists and his lips on his skin, his body covering his like a safety blanket – and maybe that’s it. Maybe that’s the reason everything is so intense. Because feeling safe with Theo is nothing but obscure.

Theo’s lips curl into a smirk against his skin. He moves down to Stiles’ jaw, then his throat. With a low growl, Stiles rather feels vibrating in his bones than he hears it, Theo presses his mouth against his pulse. Slowly, lips part and teeth drag against his skin.

Stiles struggles but Theo keeps him firmly in place, not only with his hands. Blunt human teeth scratch the crook of his neck, biting down. A gasp leaves his lips. Embarrassed, Stiles squeezes his eyes shut. He shouldn’t like it.

_Fuck._

“That comes later.”

Oh god, he said that out loud.

“First,” Theo says teeth scratching over his Adam’s apple, “You need to close the door.”

Confused, Stiles tries to look at Theo but he can’t move, can’t see anything.

“What?” He asks dumbfounded, “What door?”

“Close the doo~or,” Someone sings, someone that isn’t Theo. He hears the distorted cackle of a crow again.

Frozen with fear, Stiles doesn’t move as the hands around his wrist vanish. Weight settles on his hips, hands press down on his chest. Another crow’s cackle at the sound of his rapidly beating heart.

“They’re coming.”

“Allison-“

“Shh.” She presses a finger on Stiles’ lips. The corner of her bloodstained mouth turned upwards. “They could hear you.” She leans down, breath reeking of copper, blood dripping out of her mouth. It hits his chin, his throat – runs down his skin like a sick disease. “You don’t want them to hear you, do you?”

Stiles tries to breathe despite the panic. “Who?” He asks voice thick with fear, “Who’s going to hear me?”

“ _They_.” It’s Aiden now instead of Allison. He gives him a toothy grin, teeth and lips dirty with black substance. “They’re coming.”

“Who?”

“They’ll kill you.” Allison again.

“Your friends.” Aiden.

“Your family.” Allison.

“Everyone I ever cared about,” Stiles finishes the sentence and he sits up, pushing Aiden off him. This is a dream, it is _his_ dream – and he needs to take control of it. His fear of the nogitsune will not keep him from controlling his own mind. The nogitsune _is_ _gone_. “I want you to tell me,” He says grabbing Aiden’s throat with one hand, “Who will be coming?”

“Stiles?!”

In a heap of panic, Stiles jumps back. “Lydia.” He raises his hands but she shrinks away from him. “Lydia, I’m so sorry.”

“You’re going to kill all of us,” She whispers her voice shaking in fear, fear of him – she shouldn’t be afraid of him, she’s _never_ been afraid of him. Their relationship is made of trust in each other, unconditional love for each other. This isn’t them- this isn’t-

“Get away from there!”

Stiles yelps and jumps backwards. His calves hit something solid but it isn’t his bed. Flailing to keep his balance, he steps to the side. But there is no use. His foot gets stuck on something and he slams to the ground.

“We can save them.”

“No,” Stiles breathes pushing himself off the forest floor, away from the roots whose patterns he knows by heart. He’s seen them before, on a picture drawn by Lydia, in his nogitsune infested mind, shortly before he woke up. “ _We_ won’t do anything.” He spits but his fear keeps him unmoving, eyes glued to the ground; too afraid that when he looks up, he will lose control over everything.

“You have to get away from there.” His own voice, void of everything, creeps into his mind. It didn’t help. “Let me in, Stiles.” There is a chuckle, low and humourless. “We can save them, Stiles.” Another one, so much darker. It grabs his shoulders. “Come on.” The whisper is directly beside his ear. “Come _on_.” A distorted cackle of a crow, so loud his eardrums feel like they are going to explode. “What can be broken without being touched?”

Stiles screams. Not out of fear, not this time. He screams to drown out everything else.

 

“Stiles!”

He is still screaming.

“Stiles, wake _up_!”

Theo has a tight grip on him, unrelenting but secure. It helps Stiles find his grip on reality, a grip on his mind. He stops struggling, stops screaming – he is only breathing now, slow and steady; a forceful rhythm he uses to help him calm down. “It was just a dream,” Theo whispers, lips brushing the shell of Stiles’ ear as he speaks, “Just a nightmare.”

Stiles curls his fingers around Theo’s wrist in lieu of an answer. The familiar buzzing is back, softer now. He presses his shaking hand at the back of Theo’s other hand, fingertips pressing against his knuckles.

“Shh.” With lips brushing over his temple, Theo intertwines their fingers. “I’m here,” He breathes, swaying them from side to side ever so slightly, “I’m here.” Those words are helping more than he likes to admit. It’s everything he needs and more than he bargained for. Having Theo as a bodyguard is one thing, being with him like this is something else. It’s what Stiles and Lydia’s friendship is made out of, it’s what Stiles and Scott’s friendship used to be; it’s pack. It’s an undeniable connection, an emotional tether.

It’s dangerous. Because there is something else, too.

Stiles inclines his head until his lips meet soft skin on the side of Theo’s wrist. Maybe it is dangerous. Maybe it is the most idiotic and self-destructive idea that has ever come to his very imaginative mind; but with all the crap lying in their future Stiles knows one thing for sure: Better the devil you know than the devil you don’t.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Theo asks and his lips still brush against Stiles’ temple a he speaks.

“Something’s coming.”

 

“You have _visions_ now?” Isaac crosses and uncrosses his arms in front of his naked chest. “From dead people? I thought that’s Lydia’s thing.”

As soon as Stiles has calmed down enough to wrap his head around everything, he ushered Theo to get dressed and they drove to Isaac’s. Jordan opened the door looking half asleep. But he woke up as soon as he recognized the look of abject fear on Stiles’ face. Yelling for Isaac to get his ass out of bed, Jordan guides them to the kitchen. Thankfully his next action was starting the coffee machine.

“Where is she anyway?”

“I don’t know,” Stiles replies, “Asleep, probably.”

“I envy her.” Isaac snatched the cup of coffee from his brother’s hand before Jordan has the chance to offer it to somebody else. At the warning glance, he smirks.

“Who raised you?” Jordan asks shaking his head.

Although meant as a rhetorical question, Isaac insists on answering. “A man who locked me in a freezer for half of my childhood.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “You’re never going to stop milking that, do you?”

“Nope.” Isaac replies popping the p as if the whole topic is very amusing. That’s just showing how damaged he really is because Stiles can see similar behavioural patterns on himself. It’s easier joking about the things that hurt than to accept that they create ruins in your psyche and carves holes into your ability to feel things the way others do. In those regards, Isaac and Stiles are resembling each other more than they would like to admit.

“You said you wouldn’t mind helping me.” Stiles quickly changes the topic as Jordan seems increasingly uncomfortable with the whole situation. It’s not his fault. Isaac won’t blame him about what happened, ever. If he did, he wouldn’t have come here in the first place. But Jordan doesn’t know that yet.

Maybe Stiles should inform him about some peculiarities of his brother.  

Isaac opens his mouth, then closes it obviously offended that his very own words are currently used against him. Yes, the basic meaning was a different one, yet Isaac _did_ offer his help in one way or another. The werewolf seems to realize that as well because he flops on the chair opposite Theo, most likely internally cursing himself for his loose tongue. “Fine,” He mutters watching Jordan distribute more cups with steaming hot coffee, “Let’s take apart your dream.” Scrunching up his nose, he takes a sip. “Someone said you need to close a door?”

Stiles hides behind his steaming cup for a second. Of course, he did not tell them about how exactly his dream started. That doesn’t sound like a good idea. “Yeah.”

“Isn’t that how the shit with the nogitsune started?”

“No, the nogitsune wanted me to open the door further,” Stiles says immediately, “Not close it.”

Jordan sits down at the head of the table, frowning. The whole nogitsune dilemma had gone by him mostly unnoticed. He had been involved in the search for Stiles as well as the trick with the bombing. Luckily, that’s about it. Everything else he had learned out of stories and bits and pieces of information he had caught somewhere. None of them likes to talk about it very much. It’s part of their history they tend to keep buried – so digging it up right now is more than just painful.

“Okay, what about the crows?” Isaac continues waving his hand around, “You heard a crow laughing?”

Stiles nods slowly. “Couple of times.”

“Does that mean something?” Theo finally joins the conversation.

“Crows can be associated with a lot of things,” Stiles answers staring at his coffee, “Magic, intelligence, personal transformation, being fearless.” He licks his lips, scowling. There are a couple more positive symbolic meanings but they are generally the same thing. “Also, crows stand for tricksters or someone being manipulative or mischievous.”

“ _That’s_ just great,” Isaac mutters, “I’ve had my share of tricksters.”

“You think I don’t?”

The two lock eyes with each other. Seeing the despair in the werewolf’s eyes opens a door to the past. But it’s nothing against what he will see when his father knows about it. If something like the nogitsune happens again, Stiles isn’t sure he’ll be able to survive that; hell, Stiles doubts he’ll make it without crumbling down completely this time. He barely held on the first time.

“My subconscious used the same phrases the nogitsune had,” Stiles explains, “Even riddles. It was a horror show.”

Theo squeezes his leg reassuringly. Jordan puts a hand on his neck. It makes him remember how much he aches for his own brother, and how much he hates it that there is nothing he can do to get him back; not like this, never like this.

“The nogitsune is gone.” Isaac offers him a small smile.

Stiles nods. It’s true. The nogitsune is gone, at least in terms of being an ever present, active threat. Its fly is somewhere hidden, someplace safe. There is no way it is free again, and nobody could be possessed. Its power couldn’t be kick-started without Kira, nobody else has a connection to the nemeton like Stiles and Scott have. But their doors are closed. They _are_ closed.

Or aren’t they?

“Why Allison and Aiden?” Isaac asks running a hand through his hair, “Lydia makes sense. You were trying to take control.”

Stiles presses his hands to his eyes, skin warm from the hot cup of coffee. Theo’s hand is a soft but firm reassurance on his thigh, something that keeps him grounded and connected to his thoughts. Jordan wraps both his hands around his own cup. He looks still tired and doesn’t seem to be able to completely pick up on everything. “What do they have in common?” He asks either way, ever the attentive deputy.

“They’re both _dead_ ,” Stiles snaps at the stupid question, then he drops his hands, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to-“

“It’s okay,” Jordan reassures him, “I know.”

“It’s just-“ Stiles bites down on his bottom lip- “I don’t understand half of the crap that’s written in those research papers, well, besides that I’m basically a supernatural recycling bin with leaks.”

Isaac squints at him in utter confusion. Jordan opens and closes his mouth then shakes his head, obviously giving up in trying to understand what in the world is going on.

Theo looks at him, his eyebrows drawn in. He looks more worried than confused – and for a second Stiles has the urge to smooth out the lines on his forehead. Worry doesn’t suit him, worry is something Stiles doesn’t like to see in his face. Theo is like a bastion of calm when it comes down to Stiles’ weird abilities. So, why does he look worried now?

“A supernatural recycling bin?” Isaac echoes after a few moments of silence.

Stiles sighs before launching into an explanation about everything he has learned as he binge-read the entirety of papers the Dread Doctors have written. As it turns out, he supposedly – after all, they couldn’t study a living object – can activate his powers with the sparks of other creatures; werewolves, banshees, chimeras, magic trees, basically everything that _has_ an activated spark. The problem is, it’s not a power cycle. If he isn’t careful, he can suck them dry – just like that pretty knife of Dick, Dumbass and Dipshit. Supernatural creatures can regenerate that energy. Theo, as he tried to pull Stiles back from the nemeton, has been an accidental source for Stiles. That’s why he’s been so weak afterwards. Elements are another source of power for Stiles. They help him build his very own cycle. The energy he got from Theo was lead back into the water from where Theo could take it. Additionally, Stiles’ chemo signals have different effects. If were-creatures were to get in contact with them, they would be highly affected; especially the negative ones like anger, fear, hatred. If he doesn’t learn to seal them in, he’ll be a danger for most of his friends.

Nothing in those papers said how he’ll be able to control his emotions or how to create a proper cycle. Because if he doesn’t and isn’t careful enough when drawing power from something living, he is very likely to kill them dead.

“Well that’s... awkward,” Isaac mutters.

Jordan breathes out an odd sounding laugh. “That’s one way to phrase it.”

“Found anything about those runes?” Theo asks tapping his finger against the most prominent one on Stiles’ neck.

“Not specifically,” He replies sipping on his coffee again, “It just said that we- uh, void can use different kinds of magic as an aid for leading its own in a certain direction, especially young ones who lack control.”

Isaac frowns. “So, that was your void?” He asks ever so slowly gesturing up and down Stiles’ chest.

“Most likely,” Stiles replies unable to ignore the feeling of dread pooling in his stomach, “When I went through my wet clothes yesterday, I found that in the pocket of my jeans.” He pulls out something that looks like half of a Harry Potter wand; with a wooden grip decorated with what seems to represent vines and something that looks to be like the very top of a quill.

“Question: What is it? _And_ where did it come from?”

“That’s two questions,” Theo informs Jordan.

Stiles looks at him with a raised brow.

“Let me guess,” Isaac says dryly, “You don’t remember.”

Guiltily, Stiles sips on his coffee again avoiding to look at everybody.

“Good, blackouts.” Groaning, Isaac sinks deeper into his chair. They both remember vividly what happened the last time Stiles experienced blackouts due to a supernatural creature taking control of him; a fucked up electric cable almost killed Isaac, a trap shot Coach with an arrow, there was a bomb at the police station – in short, a lot of mayhem and pain.

“Step one should be to find out what those runes mean,” Jordan says, “we might be able to determine what your void tried to do.”

“With the main goal being the two of you working together,” Isaac adds, “Or shutting it up again.”

 

“ _Intense_ ,” Mason whispers almost gawking at him.

Stiles squirms. “That’s not intense,” He replies, “It’s terrifying.”

Digging through the internet and even more research papers from the Dread Doctors helped them achieve step one on the stairway to Void-Stiles, as Theo had phrased it so nicely a couple of months back. As it is, his void has put three runes on his body, each individual one with a very interesting meaning. The one on his hip, which looks mildly like a spiral curled around an abstract eye – it’s weird, really, he can’t properly describe what that shit looks like – means hiding. It’s unclear what exactly is hidden but Lydia’s wild guess seems the most realistic: The rune hides his power from those who shouldn’t find it; for example Dick, Dumbass and Dipshit.

The rune on his arms supposedly stands for calm but it doesn’t look exactly like the rune they have found. Since it is the best they could find after seven hours of research, they went with it. Its description is very peculiar and complicated. The book says that this rune can be applied to emotions. Basically, if you are extremely angry, draw the fitting addition and you’re good to go. As Isaac noticed that he can’t smell Stiles’ emotions – the guy literally _sniffed_ him – they figured that this rune might be a slight extension to its originator. Which is good. No chemo signals means no worry about werecreatures freaking the fuck out.

What Mason is so excited about is the rune plastered on Stiles’ neck. It looks like Scott’s open wound tattoo but with something like roots connecting the two circles. _But_ he only wears the inner circle on his neck. The other circle has to be worn by somebody else. The roots tells the number of people the wearer is connected with. Stiles hates it with a passion; not only because it is similar to the tattoo he hadn’t liked in the first place. The meaning is what bothers him. It shows that the wearer is currently without connection but ready to be connected. As soon as Stiles has drawn the rune on someone else, the exact replica will curl around his first circle.

Lydia said it’s like going to a party without a slip under a mini-dress.

Stiles replied that she couldn’t really compare a constantly activated spark with a whore.

“We can all be connected with each other,” Mason sounds worryingly excited about this particular circumstance. 

“We don’t know what that means,” Kira says adamantly, “Especially for Stiles.”

“That.” Isaac points at Kira then crosses his arms.

Liam inclines his head. “Can there be something like an overload?”

“I’ve got something,” Lydia pipes up and tabs at the book in her lab, “If a magician were to connect with a non-magician, the non-magician would not become a magician themselves. _But_ they would be able to perform basic magic tasks, for example protecting any sized area however little protection powder is left.”

That’s what he had done in order to trap Jackson, which had been a terrible idea in hindsight. Deaton had told him ‘to be that spark’. Thinking back to it now, Stiles wonders if that had been the moment his spark had activated – or if his spark has been activated long before that happened. There aren’t any rules to what ignites a spark; if there is a way to ignite a it besides drawing runes on a fellow human. Maybe you are born with it, maybe if you aren’t born with it is the reason why some people don’t survive the bite of an alpha.

“It would activate Mason’s spark too,” Stiles says.

Theo nods. “Which would make him a target.”

“Not going to happen.”

“Nope.”

Lydia talks straight over Mason’s complaining, “If we translate that on you, maybe you will get certain aspects of each individual? I mean, you said you could hear the door creak, right?” Yeah, a door which movements he shouldn’t have been able to hear because it was at the other end of the goddamn swimming pool. Even being close to that particular door doesn’t mean you can hear it creak; especially as a perfectly normal human being.

“Not necessarily,” Theo interrupts, “That could’ve happened because our sparks were connected inside water.”

“Well, that sounds vaguely dirty.”

“Shut up, Isaac.”

“ _Guys_!” Mason yells waving his hands around.

Liam turns to look at his best friend. So does everybody else, and most of their faces aren’t happy faces. An overly excited human with a werewolf as a best friend? That story has been told before – and look what it got them. Death, destruction, demise, pain, mayhem, excitus, agony, murder. In short, lots of bad things.

“I want to be in,” Mason says.

Stiles frowns. Everybody wants to be out – four out of seven _have_ _been_ out. Because being involved with the supernatural in Beacon Hils is a dangerous endeavour. If you’re  not careful, you’ll die, be possessed or used to hurt somebody close to you. Nobody in their right mind would chose that.

Then again, Stiles knows where he is coming from.

With a few long strides he crosses the room and grabs the baseball bat standing behind his bedroom door. “Catch,” He says and Mason does, looking at Stiles in confusion, “If you still want to be in when this is over, I’ll draw a rune on your body wherever you want.” He means it. If Mason still wants to be part of this pack made out of broken boys and damaged girls, then please. But not when it puts him in mortal peril. “That’s how I started; a baseball bat and determination to keep my friends alive. Works wonders.”

“Uh-“

“It’s not a normal bat, mind you.” Stiles is almost offended at the look of disappointment on Mason’s features. “It’s adapted with mistletoe and wolfsbane – see it as Lucille for a lot of supernatural creatures.”

Mason glances at Theo. “It wouldn’t hurt him?”

“Aside from the general bat-to-the-face agony?” Theo replies piqued at the mere suggestion to be hit with a baseball bat.

Stiles grins. “That’s my job anyway.”

“Now, what are we doing?” Liam gestures in the general direction of Stiles. It’s a good question, and honestly, nobody looks like they were all too sure about the whole continuation of this set of problems. Finding out something about void is like looking for a needle in a haystack. Even _if_ they find something, it’s all just a theory because this particular kind of emissary is spectacularly rare – the one in a million kind of rare. For example, voids are supposed to be hereditary – like brown eyes and brown hair – but at the same time a void is a dormant supernatural power in certain people until woken up due to an unclarified event. Then there is the uncertainty about how many voids there really have been because without a pack they could be mistaken as a powerful magician. Those were the ones to be called mad because they killed everything in their wake for more power.

Basically, nobody knows anything for sure.

Same goes for what might happen if Stiles carves the other half of the rune into someone’s skin. Is his spark constantly activated then? What power does he get? Does he even get any kind of power? And what happens to the person he is connected to?

“Maybe we should just go for it?” Isaac asks picking up the weird quill whose origin is still a mystery to everybody.

“You want me to draw on you?” Stiles squints at him.

Isaac shrugs. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Do you want the exclusive list or is the recap okay?”

“He’s right, though.” Lydia and Stiles exchange a quick glance before turning to Theo. “Carman needed three wizards to be put down. We don’t have any wizards. We’ve got you – but you’re useless without power.”

“ _Wow_.”

“You know what I mean.”

Yes, he does. Stiles is keenly aware that he understands what Theo is trying to tell him, and that he is perfectly right. The only magicians they know are currently trying to harvest everybody’s power in order to resurrect their dead mother. They won’t be of much help. But they have a kitsune who can handle however much volt you throw her way, they have a banshee who is quite good a handling her power, two very strong and easily angered werewolves. They’ve got a chimera who is hell-bent on keeping Stiles alive.

If they can’t handle this, who else could?

“Sit,” Stiles commands pointing at Isaac then the bed.

Despite the order, Isaac grins. He throws Stiles the quill – people need to stop giving him things this way – and pulls his shirt over his head in one fluent motion. “You know the place,” Isaac says sitting down on the bed with his back to the group.

Of course, Stiles knows the place. Steeling himself, he crosses the room. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices Theo’s scowl. He thinks back to Isaac’s words in the woods, then to what happened this morning between Theo and him, their closeness, the way he held him just like that. He thinks back to the promise Theo has given him in front of Deaton’s clinic during their stake out – and how he stood by it no matter what Stiles did.

Stiles claps his cheek passing by. “You’re next, tough guy.”

Theo slaps his hand away with a low growl.

“By the way,” Stiles announces, “I have no clue how much it’s going to hurt.”

Isaac looks at him over his shoulder, a smirk on his lips Stiles has seen more times than he can count – and still, there is something dark about it; like a shadow crossing his expression in order to make room for one of the other Isaac. This is the one who looks like he suggests murder during breakfast and would go through with it without batting an eye. It’s the Isaac who danced with Erica and Jackson, the Isaac who pissed off the twins, the Isaac who would happily claw out the throat of every person opposing him.

This is an Isaac Theo would like, too, if he gave him the chance.

“Hold still.” Stiles presses the tip of the quill against Isaac’s skin, just between his shoulder blades – an homage to the man who had helped him become who he is today. His free hand, he places on Isaac’s shoulder. He can feel a buzzing quite similar to the one he feels when he touches Theo. But it’s not quite the same. It’s more like a primal roar, _a werewolf_.

With ease, the tip goes in. Black colour spreads underneath his skin almost immediately, curls and stretches and follows the movements of the quill. It’s not a perfect line, or a thin one. Instead it almost thickens to the width of two fingers.

Isaac hisses in pain, eyes flashing a dark yellow as he looks over his shoulder again.

Stiles tries to ignore that as well as the burn creeping up his neck, imitating the line he draws on Isaac’s back. He clenches his teeth trying to concentrate on the task at hand. That’s nothing, he’s been through worse. Most of it left scars; even if not every single one can be seen by the naked eye.

“Done.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Isaac mutters rolling his shoulders, “One out of ten, would not recommend.”

Stiles pats his back, stops and puts his hand down again. “The buzzing’s gone.” Like, completely. He doesn’t sense anything at all anymore. Well, besides the usual skin to skin contact.

“That’s… _good_?” Liam asks carefully.

“Do you feel anything else?” Kira inclines her head.

Stiles pulls his hand back and closes his eyes. He’s always been very quick to notice the changes in his body; a form of survival instinct after your mother died due to frontotemporal dementia. It’s the clawing fear he needed to control, and the only way that’s possible is if he always watches. Some people might call it paranoid. For Stiles, this is the only way to keep his sanity from slipping through his fingers.

“No,” Stiles says eventually, “I don’t feel anything.” He turns, opens his eyes – and yelps.

Allison raises both hands in defence. Aiden stands beside her arms crossed over his chest. “Please,” She says, “I’m sorry we scared you.”

“What do you want?” Stiles asks warily. The last times they met aren’t exactly a happy memory. But both look different now, _normal_. They don’t seem dead or even hurt. There is no blood on their mouths. No mortal wounds.

Allison takes a step towards him.

Stiles takes one back.

“We don’t want to hurt you,” Aiden promises urgently. His eyes glance around as if he is expecting someone to be listening in on them.

“You _need_ to close the door,” Allison tells him again, “He can only help you, if you close the door.” She seems nervous as well, expecting to be interrupted by something else.

“What door?”

“The door you opened,” Aiden adds.

“ _Stiles_!” Lydia is standing in front of him suddenly, hands on his shoulders. Her eyes are wide in confusion and shock. Emotions Stiles is very familiar with, right now especially. It doesn’t make any goddamn sense. He isn’t a banshee. So why does he see Allison and Aiden? And what door are they talking about? What door needs to be closed? They need to _talk_ to him, properly. Not this half-assed information. That’s not going to get him anywhere – and why does he even see Allison and Aiden? Why them? Why not someone else; someone he has been closer to?

“Nothing,” Stiles replies taking her hand in his – her buzzing sounds like a scream, like an omen of death. A banshee. “I feel nothing special.”

They all look at him critically, like they don’t believe him. They are aware he is hiding something; even those who don’t know Stiles as well as Lydia does. He wouldn’t believe himself either. But he will not say anything, he won’t – not until he knows what’s going on, not until he figured out what the hell is this door everybody Allison and Aiden are talking about. He thought it is about his emotions leaking but the runes have taken care of that. His feelings are his own now.

“Where are you, Stiles?” Lydia asks scrutinising his face.

“In my bedroom,” He replies sternly, “With you.”

“Where have you been a second ago?” Kira asks obviously picking up on Lydia’s intention.

“In my bedroom,” He lies hoping none of the werewolves are going to pick up on that – they don’t. “Theo, you’re next.”

The chimera sits down where Isaac sat before. “I want it where you have it,” He says nonchalantly.

Stiles is too riled up to be bothered by his request. Instead he is going through the motions, curling his fingers around Theo’s chin to turn his head to the left. The buzzing is confusing him even more, still reminiscent of a swarm of wasps but something else. It’s odd and wrong, as if someone screwed around with the frequency and two different stations are trying to communicate with him.

A chimera.

Stiles can feel what they are. He can sense what kind of supernatural creature someone is. He wonders, what Jordan feels like. Something like a hellhound must be feeling differently, phenomenally considering what he is able to do.

He wonders, what Kira feels like. The answer comes after he’s finished with Theo and a second root has curled itself around the two circles. The kitsune wants her rune on the inside of her wrist and as Stiles touches her, he can feel thunder rolling underneath his fingertips. Then a scream as he cuts the rune in the back of Lydia’s hand. He can hear another roar as he works the magic into Liam by drawing the rune around his upper arm.

It is finished then, the roots for his power grounded in the people he tries to protect. His neck still aches, burns with the rune enhancing itself. But other than that, he doesn’t feel different. In fact, he feels the same. He feels like he always felt. A normal human, a normal boy who runs with wolves, who fights with banshees and who kicks ass with kitsunes. And maybe that’s why he isn’t afraid.

Now he just needs to find out what the fuck is wrong with his head.


	9. What He Knew

“Hey, kiddo.”

Stiles shuffles around on the bed, as his father opens the door. His eyes survey the room, obviously looking for Theo or any signs of his presence. The mattress is still lying on the floor, covers not at all neatly folded on top of it. One can see somebody slept in it not too long ago. For some reason, this particular knowledge seems to comfort John. But after the implications at the hospital and what Isaac said in the woods, Stiles decides not to ask any question.

“Hey, pops.” He pulls the blankets tighter around him again, shivering.

John steps into the room glancing around again, almost as if he is expecting Theo behind every corner. But the chimera has left to organise some breakfast around twenty minutes ago. Stiles isn’t quite sure where the idiot is going considering that there is a bakery literally just down the street, run by a very nice old lady. It’s where Stiles has gotten something to eat every time he and his dad managed to have breakfast together.

“I wanted to know if you’re home tonight,” John says, “I’d like to have dinner with you, Natalie and Lydia.” He stops, hesitates and then sighs. “And Theo, I guess.” Yeah, Theo. Although his father doesn’t necessarily like the chimera, Stiles has noticed that he stopped looking at him as if he expected bruises or other wounds on his body. Since what happened at the pool – which they still don’t know all about because Theo was bleeding out on the floor and void has taken over after Stiles passed out – John seems to trust Theo enough to know that he would never hurt Stiles. But the question looming over all their heads is: why is Theo so adamant about protecting him?  

“If nothing apocalyptic happens,” Stiles jokes, “We will have a family dinner plus one.”

John smiles a tired smile but it gets strained very soon. “Are you okay?”

“I’m just cold.”

Frowning, John steps around Theo’s makeshift bed and crouches down to press a hand to Stiles’ forehead. The small gesture catapults Stiles back to the past, a past where everything was a lot better than it is now – a past where death doesn’t wait in every nook and cranny, behind every corner and inside his own head. “You don’t feel cold.” Gently, the hand moves to his cheek, “No fever either.”

“I’m probably just coming down with something.”

“You sure it’s not because of that?” John tabs the completed rune on Stiles’ neck.

“Unfortunately,” Stiles says smiling faintly, “it feels like a very boring and unsupernatural flue.”

“I’ll run by the pharmacy in my lunch break,” John promises running his thumb over Stiles’ cheekbone. It feels good. He feels loved – although he’s gone through a lot of crap and grew up too much too soon. Sometimes he just wants nothing more than to be a kid again that gets tugged in by his father at night.

Stiles nods. “Thanks, dad.”

“Call me if you need anything.”

“It’s just a cold.”

John laughs quietly, then straightens again. “Get some sleep, kiddo.”

Stiles does, after Theo came back with breakfast. They ate in comfortable silence, then went back to lay down. Their night was reasonably short after they tried to figure out exactly what had changed. Stiles feels pretty much the same, a little under the weather, yes, but otherwise he feels ordinary. Well, as normal as he has felt since the night he had dragged Scott into the woods. They assume that he still has to trigger it somehow but now he’s got a constant input of power he can draw energy from. Which hopefully prevents him from killing everything around him.

It’s a hand on his forehead that startles him awake. “What the-?”

“Hey,” Theo says with a small amused grin lining his lips, “It’s just me.” _Just me_. Funny. It’s never going to be _just_ Theo. “Your father wanted to know if you’ve got a temperature.”

Stiles frowns. “He asked _you_?”

“No,” Theo replies piqued, “He texted you, I sent him my contact and _then_ he texted me.”

Stiles isn’t quite sure how he feels about Theo reading his texts. There is a lot he isn’t quite sure about; the way Theo continues to worm his way into his life in particular – and why he hasn’t tried to eliminate everybody who dares to come in touch with Stiles’ newly awoken void powers. Then again, Theo has come to Beacon Hills to have a pack in the first place; he came back to have a place where he belonged, a place where he means something to people as an alpha. As it is, he seems to want it bad enough that he puts up with people who are reluctant to trust him and he doesn’t like – just to belong somewhere.

Maybe his desire for power was nothing more than a mask to hide his vulnerability.

“Why do you hate Isaac?” He’s getting to his feet, out of his hot and very safe haven. But he needs a coffee or a tea, something that’s going to warm him up from the inside out.

“What?” The question seems to come totally unexpected for Theo.

“Isaac,” Stiles persist, “I see the way you are looking at him.” And it’s not even close to friendly.

Theo bares his teeth; his go-to-reaction when asked something he doesn’t want anybody to know. What could’ve sent somebody else running in the other direction means nothing to Stiles. He’s spent enough time with Derek Hale and his pack of emotional unstable teenagers, also his uncle, to be unfazed by this kind of behaviour. Especially knowing that Theo would never hurt him any more than Lydia would.

“Your connection,” He spits then.

“Connection?” Stiles grabs his phone from the nightstand and leaves the room. Isaac and Stiles’ relationship has been bumpy from the beginning. They’ve been some kind of friends for sure, but he wouldn’t call that a connection.

“Sure. Isaac’s wolf recognises you as _home_ ,” Theo replies following him downstairs, “Do you think being together in two different packs goes without a mark? You were in the Hale pack before Derek has become a real alpha, then you joined the McCall pack together with Isaac. Even if he doesn’t know it, his wolf will happily join every pack you will.” Stiles doesn’t understand why that is problematic. Isaac is a strong werewolf, strong-willed. If anything, it is good to have someone like him in their pack. “Humans might easily mistake a connection like that for something else.”

“And what exactly is that supposed to be mistaken for?” Stiles asks as they entered the kitchen. _Oh, sweetheart_ , a quiet voice whispers sounding a lot like Lydia, _you know exactly what he means_.

Theo grins, an almost predatory expression. “I wonder,” He sneers, “What _that_ could be.”

Stiles fumbles with the water kettle longer than strictly necessary. “I don’t know.” _Liar_. The word is written all over Theo’s face and the smirk turns just the slightest bit darker, more menacing. Stiles wonders why he lied in the first place. While some things are as clear as crystal water, others remain inside a thick cloud of fog.

“Oh, _really_ ,” Theo croons, “Maybe I should jog your memory a little.”

Stiles leans against the counter, arms crossed over his chest. “Maybe.”

Something crosses over Theo’s expression – and Stiles isn’t entirely sure his cocky act will bring him the results he wanted. He doesn’t even know what he tries to make Theo say. They both know by now that he heard what Isaac had said in the woods. There is no need to make a game out of it, no need to push Theo’s buttons.

Yet, here they are.

“Okay-“ Stiles runs a hand through his dishevelled hair, sighing as the other doesn’t say or do anything but smirk- “How about that, you will overdramatically quote what Isaac said, I will tell you you’re full of shit. You’re probably going to reply that you’re right in what you’re saying in that absolutely self-assured way you’re always talking. It’ll piss me off to a point where I insult or consider punching you- how about we skip that to spare us the trouble of working through those issues and come to the point where I ask you a question and you answer it honestly?”

Theo inclines his head, eyebrows drawn in ever so slightly. “What question?”

“Are you scared I’ll chose Isaac over you?” Stiles turns to the water kettle as it switches off, more to pretend he hasn’t seen how Theo’s face contorts into another aggravated snarl. “Because I know him longer?” He drops a teabag into a mug then pours water over it. “Do you know how that sounds?” He puts the kettle back, rubbing two fingers over the skin just behind his ear where the oni had branded him with the kanji – a permanent reminder of when he was himself again. “As if you’re _jealous_.”

Before he can grab his mug, Theo slams against him. Stiles’ hip hits the counter but the groan gets stuck in his throat as Theo’s fingers curl around it, thumb pressing against his Adam’s apple. “I’m not jealous,” He informs him with lips ghosting over the shell of Stiles’ ear – this time, the gesture is the opposite of calming, “I just don’t like to share.”

Theo presses against him, every inch of his body covered. His body heat burns through the fabric without necessarily making Stiles feel warmer. But he can make out a sensation starting to unfold in his stomach. “Sharing requires ownership.” Stiles tries to ignore his traitorous heartbeat getting quicker. He tries to ignore how nicely their bodies fit together like this, how good it feels to have Theo’s heartbeat close to his own. “And you didn’t do much in terms of claiming.”

 _Stop. Shut up._ Stiles doesn’t even know what his words are supposed to do. The way they roll off his tongue, it doesn’t feel like he is trying to push Theo away. It’s more like he is encouraging him.

“You want me to claim you?” Theo asks voice ever so low.

 _No_. Stiles grits hits teeth because he knows that’s not going to be his answer. He is going to say something stupid. He always does in stressful situations like this. _Quiet_. _Be quiet._ His jaw hurts from the way he forces himself to keep his mouth shut.

Theo smirks.

Stiles doesn’t only feel it against the sensitive skin of his ear. He also sees it in their reflection in the kitchen window as he stares outside, into the dark sky with clouds threatening to break open every second now. They look like they merge into a single person, a dangerous combination of dark colours which shouldn’t go together for a happy picture. But they look as if they belong, the black to a blood red.

Yellow flashes like fireflies, a low chuckle – then Theo ducks down, sharp teeth scratch over the rune on his neck. Stiles shudders, mouth opening for a soundless gasp. “Stiles,” Theo hums his name like a tainted prayer.

Stiles presses his hands flat on the counter in front of him, counting fingers as Theo’s hands find their way to his hips. Teeth and lips and tongue caress his rune and neck, gentle and abrasive.

Theo spins him around, interpreting the lack of response as permission to continue. Their lips meet harshly, teeth clinking. It’s perfect although it shouldn’t be, right although it’s _oh-so_ wrong. This shouldn’t be happening but Stiles kisses back as Theo pushes against him. He opens his legs for Theo to step in as their knees bump awkwardly. His hands remain at the counter top while Theo claims the rest of his body; presence creeping into his veins like a toxin. His world shrinks until he feels nothing else.

Theo is kissing him as if he wants to drown, his fingers curl around Stiles’ hip as if it’s everything that keeps him afloat.

They part for a second, to breathe, to clear their heads – Theo bumps his nose against his. Such a soft and intimate gesture, unreal coming from someone like him. Stiles breathes in and out, slowly. He shudders, feels drawn back.

But before can Stiles act on it, his phone destroys the alternative universe they are currently floating around in.

“Don’t-“ Theo pleads.

Stiles hesitates but the walls are crumbling and the world is coming back, as if it is fading out of the darkness. His immersion is gone, his lips are bruised and poisoned.

“I have to.”

With an aggressive growl, Theo pushes himself off Stiles.

Shaking, Stiles fumbles for his phone and presses it against his ear. “Hello?” Oh god. Is it audible? Do they know what happened by hearing the slight crack in his voice? Do they know Theo is standing here, few inches away, wanting to kill whoever interrupted them?

“Stiles?” The sheer panic in Mason’s voice stops his surroundings from crashing down and screwing with his thoughts. Even Theo turns around, eyes narrowed – not from anger but concern.

“What’s wrong?”

Theo moves back to him. But he avoids Stiles’ searching eyes and instead locks his gaze on the phone in Stiles’ hand. It makes his stomach clench painfully, adds to the worry that is quickly spreading through his body.

“Someone’s here.” Mason stops, his breathing sounds shallow as if he tries not to be too loud. “Someone is after us.”

“Who?” Stiles asks and finally Theo puts a hand on his neck, thumb tracing his jawline for much needed comfort. But it isn’t enough, not even close, and he still doesn’t look at him, still focuses on the phone and nothing else. He wonders if his pulse is a fast as it feels, he wonders if Theo knows what’s going on inside him. “Mason, who is after you?”

“I don’t know,” Mason breathes and panic is clogging his voice until it’s almost inaudible, “Please come. Stiles, please come qu-“

The connection dies.

“Did you hear that?” Theo asks. They lock eyes, and Stiles wishes they didn’t. The blue eyes are wide with something akin to distress.

“The enervating busy signal?” Stiles asks feeling hysteria joining the worry and confusion – and the cold is only getting worse. Theo’s hand feels like hot iron on his skin. Something’s wrong. Something is so very wrong. They need to move. They have to go, they have to-

“The rattling breath in the background,” Theo replies shaking his head slowly, “I never heard something like that before.”

 

They arrived at Beacon Hills High only ten minutes later – Stiles is sure they waved at the speed limit with middle fingers out – and burst into the school. The empty corridors were eerie, almost terrifying and reminded them of every single time something had happened here. In hindsight, it’s a miracle the school is still opened. Once, they had to duck down and hide because Coach was roaming around, probably looking for pupils who skipped class.

A few minutes later, they ended up in the locker rooms.

“The showers,” Stiles whispers because he doesn’t need supernatural hearing to notice the running water – and the feeling of something wrong is somehow stronger here than everywhere else. It’s weird, how his body leads him towards the people he wants to protect _or_ a new danger that might lead to horrific pain and death. Everything is possible in Beacon Hills.

They rush towards it, Stiles fumbling for Theo’s hand in the process, and burst into the shower room.

Mason sits underneath a shower. Beside him, curled into a foetus position, lays Liam. Even from the distance Stiles can see the pale skin, the blue lips – the eyes wide with horror. “He’s ice-cold,” Mason whispers in shock, “I didn’t know- I don’t-“

“Get him away from Liam,” Stiles orders.

He rushes towards them getting to his knees and almost slams into the wall. Cursing, he bends down. “Liam-“ His shaking fingers find the younger’s cheek and he turns his head slightly- “Liam!” But the werewolf stares at nothing, is completely out of it. _Fuck_.

As Theo has pulled Mason away, who doesn’t have it in him to struggle, Stiles slaps Liam – once, twice. A third time. “Come on!” He yells, loud and louder, his voice cracking at the effort not to sound hysterical. “ _Come on_!” His palm hurts from the connection. It’s like hitting a brick wall – not only because Liam’s skin feels like stone. The effect is the same.

“ _What_ are you doing?” Theo hisses.

“Forcing him to turn.” Stiles gathers Liam and pulls him onto his lab. The hot water feels like lava on his skin, leaving behind a burning sensation. But it doesn’t get rid of the ice inside his veins – and Stiles knows exactly why. It’s because of Liam; Liam who has been attacked, who is freezing on the floor. He felt it like Lydia feels death, a dull echo of what will happen in the foreseeable future. For her, it’ll always be sounds. He can feel it.

And he’s not liking it.

Stiles wraps one arm around Liam’s shoulders to keep him close and locked down. It’s an uncomfortable position like this, half sitting, half kneeling and with Liam half on top of him. Freezing like this and with his sodden sweatpants sticking to him like a second skin it is especially hard to get his hand into his pocket. His fingers are shaking, stiff from the cold. It’s getting worse by the second, it gets worse the more Liam is diminishing.

“His pulse slows,” Theo informs him.

“Shut _up_ ,” Stiles hisses fumbling in his pocket for something he likes to call a last resort.

“Is that a pocket knife?” Mason’s voice is uncomfortably high-pitched. It even hurts Stiles’ ears. He doesn’t want to think about how much discomfort it might be for Theo. “What do you need a pocket knife for?”

“To force him to turn,” Stiles snaps again flipping said knife open, “Now shut up; _both_ of you.” He turns to Liam, readjusting his grip just the slightest bit before he brings the knife down. It easily cuts through the fabric of his clothes and skin – hopefully this isn’t his favourite jeans – and sinks deeper into his upper thigh. As there is no immediate reaction, Stiles twists it once it’s in to the handle.

Liam comes awake. His hands fly up to free himself of Stiles’ hold. “Calm down,” Stiles says throwing the knife away so he can wrap both arms around his chest and shoulders, “ _Liam_ , calm _down_.”

In an instant, the werewolf stills in his hold and turns his head to look up at him wide-eyed. For a moment, it’s like he is searching for something – as if every answer is buried in Stiles’ face. His eyes flash golden for no longer than a heartbeat; a reaction Stiles doesn’t know how to interpret.

Mason and Theo crouch down beside them. The latter puts a hand on Stiles’ shoulder, squeezing slightly. It takes a lot not to lean his cheek against his knuckles in a silent question for comfort. It’s still Theo, just Theo. He needs to keep his distance and a clear head. Especially now that another threat came to the city.

A threat which scares Stiles more than the immortal sons of an evil goddess ever could.

“Who were those guys?” Liam asks colour coming back to his skin. He sits up slowly, groaning as if his whole body is aching. It might be. Stiles knows the feeling. But the cold leaves his veins, so Liam is already on his way to get better.

Exhausted, Stiles lets himself fall against the wall. The cold water continues to rain down on him, unrelenting but somehow it feels good, like it wants to cover Stiles’ body, give him a second layer. Protection. It’s the first-time Stiles feels somewhat comfortable with water again. For the most part, it was reminding him of pain, triggered bad memories.

Mason sits down beside Liam, wrapping a hand around his best friend’s upper arm. They are so close, so connected with each other. It hurts just looking at them.

Theo crouches down next to him. The hand on his shoulder has vanished but they sit close enough that Stiles can feel the ghost of his skin brushing against the chimera’s. He wills the distance to feel right. But his body aches touch. Like this he feels hollow, carved out and empty.

“They are called oni,” Stiles mumbles, “And they are looking for a nogitsune.”

 

Since Liam can be considered save now – Stiles shot a quick picture of the kanji behind his ear – Theo and Stiles drove back home. After sending Kira the photo, Stiles informed everyone that Dick, Dumbass and Dipshit aren’t their only problem anymore. It’s always good when they have to battle numerous enemies; worked out fabulously as the Alpha Pack and the psychotic darach had been in town. But those have been killable at least. Carman’s sons are getting up no matter what you do to them and the oni aren’t easy to fight either, much less a nogitsune – especially without an alpha werewolf.

“Great.”

“What?” But Stiles sees is already. Scott is waiting in front of his house, pacing anxiously up and down the driveway. He has sent Scott a text as well; no matter where they are standing right now, he couldn’t just let him run around uninformed in a danger-infested city like theirs.

Scott stops and turns as Theo pulls up the driveway. His eyebrows draw in, eye flicking between the two of them. It’s obvious, he doesn’t like the situation. Theo could probably help old ladies crossing the street or care for puppies for free multiple years and he wouldn’t change his opinion about him. After attempting to kill him, Theo lost all his redeeming qualities. If Stiles hated and distrusted everyone who had ever harmed a hair on his head, his list of friends would be depressingly small.

Theo, while pulling the key out of the ignition, looks at Stiles. “Are you okay?”

Stiles nods, slowly. “Yeah,” He replies exhaustion clearly audible, “I just need to get into something dry.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about,” Theo says putting a hand on his thigh. The gesture makes Stiles jump in surprise. He didn’t expect it, his mind too wrapped up with the particular threat of another nogitsune, the oni and everything else that currently wreaked havoc in their hometown. This reaction causes Theo to pull his hand back.

Stiles grabs it, squeezing tightly. “Don’t worry.”

Theo doesn’t look convinced but stays quiet anyway and follows as Stiles climbs out of the car.

Scott notices the runes on both their necks immediately, and Stiles closes his eyes for a moment. Isaac and Liam have put their runes in places to honour their alphas, Theo has based his decision on where it would provoke the most. The rune is not only most prominent there, it’s also in the exact same spot as Stiles’ drawing attention to an underlying connection. For Scott, it’s also a punch to the gut considering that it’s reminiscent of his tattoo; the one Stiles proclaimed to dislike greatly.

“How are you?” Scott asks stepping closer.

Theo’s posture changes from worried to hostile and Scott stops; either because he doesn’t want to provoke a fight in front of Stiles or because he knows he wouldn’t stand a chance now that he is nothing more but an omega. Also, his fighting skills are no match for Theo – not only because the chimera doesn’t hesitate to fight dirty if he must.

“I’m fine,” Stiles replies trying to keep his voice even, “It’s Liam who has been attacked.”

“I know.” Scott bites his lips glancing at Theo again. “I just wanted to check on you after the oni returned.”

“Did you now.” Stiles pulls a face as he frees his keys out of his drenched sweatpants. Fucking hell, he needs some dry clothing. He’s cold again; but this time it’s because he is wet to the bone and left the warm and comfortable inside of Theo’s car. It feels even more unpleasant than the cold that has followed him around all day.

With a sigh, Stiles moves towards the house. The pebbles are crunching underneath his shoes, wet as well. There is nothing dry about him. It’s a miracle his phone survived the whole endeavour. Theo appears at his side, irritation surrounding him like a cloud. He’s probably wondering why Stiles hasn’t sent Scott away already; and he’s right. It’s the only logical conclusion but somehow the words won’t leave his lips.

In uneasy silence, the three boys are entering the Stilinski house and trot up the stairs. It must be an odd picture but Stiles tries not to think about it. Instead he kicks open his door and stumbles over the blanket Theo didn’t put back. “For fucks _sake_ ,” He curses as the irritation surrounding Theo finally adds to his own, “Make your bed, will you?” Stiles ignores the dirty look sent in his direction.

He needs a towel.

“Why is the mark on your neck different now?” Scott asks just as Stiles yanks boxershorts out of his dresser.  

“It’s complete,” Theo answers from where he kneels on the mattress; the same one Scott had been using during their sleepovers. Stiles wonders how much Scott hates it that Theo is filling the empty space he left behind.

As quickly as possible, Stiles towels himself down in the bathroom next door, slips into his boxershorts and hurries back to the bedroom. He doesn’t feel good at the thought of leaving them alone for too long. But as he re-enters the room, Scott sits on the desk chair and Theo on the bed. They do glare at each other, though, and Stiles knows it doesn’t take much for at least Theo to punch Scott.

“What do you want?” Stiles asks, “You know I’m fine.”

“I want to help,” Scott says watching as Stiles crosses the room.

He hesitates for a brief second. _Help_. It takes a lot not to immediately snap at Scott and with this cause an unnecessary chain of events. Because Theo will go for Scott’s throat as soon as Stiles gives him the smallest of reasons. “I don’t need your help.” Stiles grabs a random shirt. He’s aware Theo _and_ Scott are looking at him, although he can only see Theo from where he stands. The blue eyes catch on the scar on his abdomen, where the nogitsune cut him open to spread its flies. Before it healed completely, it had pushed him out and created a new body for him – and Stiles is stuck with a constant reminder of the terror which reigned his mind and body and soul.

“With the oni back-“

“I said, I don’t _need_ your help,” Stiles repeats.

It’s weird how neither of them can scent the anger burning on his inside. His emotions are locked up, his chemo signals odourless. He wonders how odd it is for them. It has always given them an advantage on him, knowing what he feels while Stiles tries to pretend he doesn’t.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” The desk chair creaks barely audibly as Stiles slips into his clothes.

With a snarl, Theo jumps off the bed. “He said he doesn’t need you.” He’s a wall between the two of them, and maybe – although Scott would never actually do something to harm Stiles – it’s better this way; because Stiles isn’t sure he can say the same thing about himself. He attacked him before. It might as well happen again but now it would be way more fatal.

“Stiles-“ Scott tries to ignore Theo, but the chimera reacts quickly, stepping in his way once more.

“You know when I needed your help?” Stiles asks and finally the anger gets the best of him, “When I tried to save our pack from breaking apart. But _you_ were too naïve, too gullible. Now you have to live with the consequences.”

Scott’s face contorts into hurt.

Stiles couldn’t care less. He wants to, he really does. But again, Scott barges into his life with the offer to help instead of thinking about rebuilding their trust first; and that’s the real problem, isn’t it? Trust is what forms Scott’s whole character. Scott trusts _everyone_. Unless you are his best friend since day one, unless you are his very own brother – not by blood, they didn’t need blood. But suddenly, the words of a stranger count more than everything they have gone through. Honestly, Stiles doesn’t even know _how_ he could make up for this kind of betrayal.

“Can we talk about this in private?” Scott asks in a small voice, glancing at Theo for a second.

“No,” Stiles replies easily, “He’s my pack. You can say whatever you want in front of him.”

“So, you-“

“Give him the benefit of the doubt? Yeah, that’s what you wanted me to do in the first place, right?”

Scott outright scowls at him. Obviously, people get really easily pissed off if you twist their every word around. Funny, isn’t it? Especially when they have no right to be offended. Oh, how the tables have turned. Again and again and again. Scott trusts Derek, Stiles doesn’t and that’s wrong. Stiles does trust Derek but Scott doesn’t; and that’s wrong too. They turn in circles, over and over. Forever. Until the day Scott realises that he is human and can make mistakes too.

“I can’t believe you put him over me.”

“You know what I can’t believe?” Stiles sneers, “I was ready to kill myself alongside you, remember?” He does. It was the night of their Lacrosse trip, the night where the darach screwed with the werewolves’ heads. “I really thought you’d return the courtesy with trusting me enough. But you put Theo’s words above mine and pushed me out of the pack, just like that.” He crosses his arms in front of his chest. “And since I’m very well raised, I’d ask you kindly to leave now.”

“Stiles-“

Theo snarls again, claws out but hands still lowered at his sides. Yes, his hatred for Scott still runs deep. Every excuse would do. From his point of view, it’s understandable. They started all from the bottom but Scott and Stiles have a family loving them unconditionally. Theo had had parents from which neither had given him the time of day, and a sister he had locked up to. But he had always stood in her shadow. All that anger and hatred had made him a target for an even greater darkness.

Suddenly, Theo turns his head towards the window. “There’s a werewolf in your driveway.”

Stiles raises an eyebrow. “He’s early.” He grabs the small backpack that is sitting on his dresser since last night. While Theo slept, Stiles has been doing some planning of his own. There are few people he could turn to to figure out more about the whole void problem. One is Noshiko, her age could provide a source of knowledge, although she had called the nogitsune void as well.  But every time he thought about asking her, something balked at the idea. Lydia tells him to trust his instincts, so he scrapped the idea.

Stiles chose the alternative.

“What is _he_ doing here?” Scott asks following Stiles and Theo down the stairs. It’s like he’s adopted two puppies; fucking annoying.

“ _Who_ is he?” Theo asks.

“Someone who knows a little about a lot,” Stiles replies ignoring Scott’s question completely.

But he is stubborn enough for two. “I can’t believe you asked him for help.”

Stiles shrugs, dropping the backpack on the dinner table. Its content clank together innocently, almost like a little child using cooking utensils for instrument. “Desperate measures,” He says then and opens the door.

In front of it, surrounded by all his haughty smugness, stands Peter. The smirks plastered on his lips is too familiar and coaxes Stiles to respond with his very own. “Surprised my nephew was right about you.”

“I doubt you’re that surprised.” Stiles steps aside to let Peter in. If he had an alternative for the alternative, he would’ve taken it. As it is, there isn’t much he can do – and Peter isn’t necessarily hard to handle. He’s an easy read, with even easier goals. Although being a pain in the ass, he has buried his title as villain long ago.

“You were on your way out?” Stiles’ gaze flickers to Scott.

“I’m not leaving you alone with those two.”

Stiles scoffs.

“Trouble in paradise?” Peter asks mock-shaken, “Horrific.”

“Because they are manipulative bastards?” Surprisingly unsurprising, neither Theo nor Peter look particularly offended at the comment. “In case you missed it, I had quite a good teacher. I can play with the big boys.”

“I should’ve bitten _you_ ,” Peter states with increasing amusement at the situation.

“Opportunities,” Stiles sighs, “Guess you got used to wave at them from afar.”

Peter quirks a brow instead of being piqued. He’s lived with Derek long enough not to be bothered by comments about his lack of successes anymore. If Derek and Stiles have one thing in common, it’s their brutal honesty. Also, Peter isn’t one he would describe as highly sensitive.

“You’re still here,” Stiles says slowly, “Why are you still here?”

Scott gnashes his teeth but instead of angry he impersonates a kicked puppy. It’s absurd – and yet, he finally admits defeat. On his way to the door, he stops briefly beside Stiles. “She still loves you, you know.”

“Scott McCall, always thinking about others first.”

It’s only a nudge in the right direction, but Scott seems to understand. “I’m not giving up on us.”

“Then maybe you should figure out what’s wrong with _us_ first,” Stiles replies icily. He’s not about to tell him. Of course, he could. That would make a lot of things easier. But what would it change? If Scott doesn’t realise his mistake, he’ll never be able to fundamentally change and sooner or later, the problem will resurface. And again, Stiles will be victim of his ignorance.

He closes the door behind Scott, pressing his eyes close. _Don’t get distracted_. Don’t. He doesn’t have time for distraction, not with Peter around who doesn’t hesitate to dig his claws into open wounds. As he turns around, steeled and ready for what comes next, Stiles finds Peter and Theo looking at him, arms crossed and an eyebrow raised.

Hopefully, Stiles thinks resisting the urge to groan, Peter’s DNA hasn’t somehow helped to create little Theo. Although that would explain a lot. His worryingly increasing attraction towards the fucking chimera, for instance, because looking back at his history, Stiles seems to favour Hales a lot as potential love interests – Lydia was an exception to that rule.

“Shall we?”

They settle at the kitchen table and Stiles feels a little like the main character in a mafia movie. He grabs the backpack and pulls out a bottle of expensive scotch. Without further due, he shoves it in Peter’s direction, who raises a brow. “You know I can’t get drunk,” He reminds Stiles inspecting the bottle closer anyway. If he tries to convince anyone that he doesn’t like it, he’s doing a terrible job.

Theo and Stiles exchange a quick glance. They are sitting side by side opposite Peter, who nods along to whatever he is reading on the back of the bottle. “I know you have an exquisite taste,” Stiles admits with a small smirk, “See it as a peace offering.”

Peter puts the bottle down. “I’m intrigued.” He folds his hands and assesses Theo for a second. His eyes glide over the rune on his neck. “What am I here for?” He looks at Stiles now, a knowing smile crossing his features for the smallest of seconds as he connects the dots.

Stiles gets to his feet again. His nervous excitement keeps bouncing around inside him – and, damn, is he happy that nobody notices it. Although it’s hard not to act on it, Stiles tries his very best to keep his charade from crumbling down. It’s important that he stays calm and always one step ahead of Peter. Otherwise everything is a waste of time they don’t have. “You know why you’re here,” Stiles replies running his fingers over the backrest of his now empty chair, “I wanna know why you never bit me.”

“I assume you already know the answer,” Peter replies sounding faintly amused still.

“Theo said the Dread Doctors never touched me because they were afraid to trigger something.” Stiles leans forward a little, tapping his fingers on the edge of the chair in a slow casual rhythm. It’s what the nogitsune used to do, like it was bored and had already won its game. It’s the superior attitude he needs. “I think you were afraid of it, too.”

Peter curls his lips into a tight line. “I’m never afraid.”

“Lie,” Theo announces almost giddily. His stunned silence seems to be broken. Maybe it took him by surprise that Stiles didn’t share this particular idea when he has been including Theo before. But the guy is smart, he’s probably already caught up to the plan.

“You know what I am,” Stiles proclaims with a smirk.

Peter inclines his head to properly look at him, just the smallest hint of anger crossing his features. But he regains his composure quickly. “Your kind is supposed to be extinct.”

“Just like those shoes,” Lydia announces displeasingly, entering the kitchen. She kisses Stiles’ cheeks for a greeting and nods at Theo. Her presence calms him a little. Although Peter told Cora and Stiles the story about Derek’s blue eyes, she may know even better how to deal with him.

Peter sends her a tight smile. “As I was saying,” He continues while Lydia is sitting down to Theo’s left, “The last known Void was alive during the French Revolution. Records exists but some got lost over the years. Apparently, its pack had been killed during the Seven Years’ War by the French. Going mad with its desire for vengeance, it had ruined every chance of recovery. It cursed the harvest, whispered terrible ideas to the French government. It had spread chaos, strife and pain.” Peter makes a show out of stressing the last four words, leaving a poignant pause after every single one. “Eventually it had been killed by kitsunes.”

Stiles licks his lips, crossing his arms over the backrest. “How did it get so strong?” They all know the disastrous ramifications and magnitudes of the French revolution. It’s hard to imagine that a single void can do something like that.

“It’s a trickster,” Peter says as if the question doesn’t need an answer.

Lydia cocks her head. “Kitsunes, nogitsunes, coyotes – they are all considered tricksters.”

“Foxes and coyotes are basically the same in terms of lore,” Theo interrupts, “The only difference is their place of origin. Foxes are most common in Eurasia, coyotes in Africa and America.”

Stiles stares at him, mildly amazed – something he seems to share with Lydia, who looks at Theo in astonishment. It’s rare that somebody knows more than either of them. Tapping a finger against the side of his arm, Stiles locks eyes with Peter again. “So, the lore is based on the void.”

“You’re the clever one, aren’t you?”

“You _knew_ ,” Stiles says remembering clearly the moment he had heard those words for the first time – and Peter was planning on that. He remembers how he had run as fast as possible over the Lacrosse field, screaming her name. He remembers how he thought he’d come too late. “You found out because I wanted to save Lydia no matter what.” Because void may be a trickster but first and foremost, they are emissaries – and emissaries don’t only keep their pack connected to humanity, they protect them.

“Not quite,” Peter replies clearly enjoying that he has Stiles in the palm of his hand; at least he thinks he does. Stiles has counted on his arrogance. “I found out the second I caught your scent in the woods. You were a bad liar, terrible at deception.” He clicks his tongue. “But _so_ adamant about protecting those you cared for. _That_ ’s why I went after your friends. Admitted, I was a little impressed as you tried to protect Derek.”

“I learned,” Stiles announces and straightens again.

Peter smiles dangerously at him. “All this information comes with a price, Stiles.”

“People need to stop assuming I’ll help them become alpha.” He glances at Theo, who sends him another dirty look. Peter follows his gaze; his eyes leaving Stiles is almost palpable. “I’m up for negotiation, though,” Stiles adds easily and Peter turns his attention back to him, brows furrowed now, “Well, of course I need to know what you have to offer first.”

Lydia puts her hand on the table rapping her nails against the wood. Her black rune stands out against the fair skin. Peter glances at it once, first in annoyance since the noise seems to distract him, then a second time as he notices the rune. Stiles can see the exact moment in which he realizes what that means. His eyes flick back to Theo’s neck, then Stiles’ before the two of them lock eyes again. This time, it’s Stiles turns to smirk.

“You already have a power source.”

“I have five,” Stiles says marvelling at the worry crossing over Peter’s face, “Now, I’m going to lay this out for you. We can make this civil, make a deal. Everybody gets what they want. _Or_ -“ Stiles turns the backpack upside down, beside the rune book and his quill, two silver daggers, a small wooden box filled with wolfsbane and another one with mistletoe, as well as a lighter drop to the table. “Or I’m going to make this _very_ ugly. Either way, I’ll get what I want.”

“Heartbeat’s rising,” Theo announces as he takes his place to Stiles’ left.

Lydia purses her lips. “Let me guess – anxiety?”

Theo chuckles.

“You need me.” Peter gets to his feet.

Stiles snatches the lighter from the table. “You know, I’ve always kept Derek’s loft a fire-free zone. No candles, no matches, no lighters. Nothing. He’s still afraid of fire, understandably.” He flicks the lighter open, watches the flame come to life, then snaps it shut again. “You still choke on the scent of smoke too, don’t you?” He locks eyes with Peter again delighted by the expression of surprise on his features. “As an omega, you need a pack. You’re at the bottom of the food chain – and nobody likes you.”  

In a decision of fight of flight, Peter has always had an obvious preference. “I’m not as surprised as Derek, that the nogitsune chose you as its host,” He says then smoothing out his expression to a sneer, “For one, there has always been something about you – and your name, how did you call yourself?”

Stiles flicks the lighter open again. “Mischief,” He answers, closing the lighter.

“ _Glorious_ _sword_ ,” Peter continues calmer now, almost relaxed, “Tell me, Mischief, if a nogitsune has such dark humour, how amused would it be if it possessed its creator?”


	10. Down with the Shine

“So, he’s pack now?”

Stiles side eyes Isaac, then looks in the rear-view mirror at Peter, who attempts to smirk charmingly and fails spectacularly – hello, creepy Uncle Peter – then turns his attention back out front blinking against the sun again. “On approbation.”

It’s bright outside today. The sun is burning down on them as if there hasn’t been a downpour yesterday that lasted for hours and hours, until late at night. Stiles fidgets with Theo’s sunglasses. They are not really his style but his own are somewhere in his bedroom. While talking to his father over the phone, he didn’t really think about bringing them – additionally, Theo didn’t like to be left behind and let Stiles know through complaining. But considering what they are about to do, he can’t join them.

Yesterday evening, two bodies have been found. Both with the same note in their hands like the first one. _To the boy who runs with wolves._ It put a major dent in their dinner plans since John had to leave for work before Lydia and Natalie came over. Stiles, very adamantly, tried to convince his father to take him with him and explained that he could make out someone’s supernatural ability. To protect sparks, Stiles concluded, he needed to know how they felt like. That way, he might be able to find them without actually using the whole tracking thing. Because that had ended up in an utter and complete disaster. John wouldn’t let him come to the crime scene but promised to talk to Melissa. It seemed to be successful, after all they are currently on their way to the hospital, where she is going to meet them at the back entrance to lead them into the morgue.

Hence Theo’s absence.

Melissa is already not going to like Peter accompanying him. But after what Theo did to her son, she would get a major freak out; and Stiles really doesn’t want to make the already strained relationship – do they have a strained relationship? How much did the break-up with Scott affect Melissa and Stiles’ relationship? – any more complicated. So, no Theo. No Lydia either because Stiles told her and Kira to figure out what Noshiko knows about the oni. Theo, Mason and Liam are currently making a list of useful runes; hopefully. He knows how easily Mason and Liam can get side-tracked.

Theo is not going to like that he called Isaac and asked to join him for his little trip.

Stiles wonders why it bothers him.

“I really don’t like him,” Isaac persists pulling Stiles out of his thoughts.

“Nobody does,” Stiles replies catching Peter’s eye in the mirror. He tabs his thumb against the steering wheel. It feels odd to drive in Theo’s car and wear Theo’s sunglasses they had picked up from Theo’s ‘home’. It feels weird to say that Theo kind of moved in with them. But John made a point yesterday, that Theo should move into the guest room as long as they are staying in Beacon Hills. Stiles tried to ignore how much he doesn’t like it but Theo agreed, probably to please John. It’s odd his father even troubles himself with making Theo’s life more comfortable.

Isaac scrunches up his nose. “What do we need him for then?”

“ _He_ ,” Peter interrupts, “Is going to train Stiles.”

Finally, Isaac turns around in his seat to give Peter a dirty look. This pack is made out of troubled teenagers and conflicts; to top it all off, Stiles allows a narcissistic creeper into their midst. _Fuck_ this whole thing. They needed an alpha, like yesterday. “What do you want?”

“Gratitude.”

Stiles scoffs. “The keys to the Hale vault.”

“The Hale _what_?” Isaac echoes staring at him in utter confusion.

“It’s a long story,” Stiles says not in the mood to go into depth how there is a secret fucking vault underneath their high school. He’s got other things in his mind. Scott, for example. And that he kissed Theo. Or Theo kissed him. But Stiles totally kissed him back – and it scares him that he doesn’t know what would have happened if Mason hadn’t called. Also, there is so much happening right now in terms of the supernatural and everything else. Stiles is happy his head manages to shut up at least for a second between his major freak-outs.

 

As he parks the car, Melissa is already waiting for him. She sends a small smile in Isaac’s direction, ignores Peter for the most part and pulls Stiles into a hug. “It’s good to see you,” She says and sounds like she means it. The car seems to be unfamiliar to her, considering that she doesn’t say anything about it. Maybe she assumes it’s his and Lydia’s because Lydia mentioned something about getting a bigger car for a more comfortable drive between Palo Alto and Beacon Hills.

“Dad updated you?”

“Yes,” Melissa says leading them into the cellar, “I can’t say I’m surprised, honestly, considering how much you’ve survived.”

“About the oni too?” Stiles doesn’t know why he is behaving this distanced towards her. He shouldn’t be. Melissa never did anything to him.

“Any idea who it might be?” The underlying ‘ _you’re not possessed again, are you?_ ’’ is painfully audible.

Stiles shakes his head, an answer to both questions, audible and inaudible. “It’s kind of hard to do three things at once,” He says glancing at Isaac who follows him together with Peter. The latter looks slightly bored by the whole conversation but has enough common sense _not_ to say anything stupid. Until he finds out that only Derek or Cora, as Talia Hale’s children, can open the vault, he will play nice – and Stiles hopes he can draw it out as long as possible.

Peter is going to be _so_ pissed.

“Okay, Stiles-“ Melissa has her key card in hand and seems a little uncertain. Even after everything they have been through, she still thinks Scott and he are youngsters who needs to be protected and spared the horrors of their life at all costs. “This is not going to be nice to look at.”

“I just need to touch them, then we’re off again.”

Melissa cocks her head, showing that small desperate smile she does when something is about to be unintentionally funny in the worst way possible. “Which part?” She asks and the door slides open.

_Oh, come on._ On the tables are two bodies, so that’s normal. Problematic is only, the individual body parts don’t look anatomically correct. Rather, they seem to be stretched to odd proportions. Especially the limbs. It’s so not cool.

“Oh god, _why_?” Isaac mutters as the door is sliding shut between them and Melissa. She’ll keep watch, just in case someone might come down for whatever reason. Although she doesn’t really need to considering he has two early-warning systems with him, of which he can trust both for different reasons.

Stiles gestures for Peter, stepping closer to the bodies. They are both male, twins and seemed to have been in their thirties. On their necks is a dark purple line – he’s happy their eyes are closed because Stiles knows how those look after someone got strangled to death, thank you very much. Basically, they have been hung, drawn and quartered. Another execution that had found lots and lots of love during medieval times.

Fabulous.

“How do I do this?”

“Quickly,” Isaac mutters from where he stands, “Preferably.”

Peter rolls his eyes theatrically as always. “You need to establish a connection.”

Isaac huffs. “Isn’t talking to the dead the job of a banshee?”

Stiles squints at him. Not that he is wrong, but he really just wants to get this over and done with – and those interruptions aren’t necessarily speeding up the process.

Peter adds a dramatic sigh to his repertoire of demonstrating how he feels about interruptions. “We’re not trying to talk to the dead,” He says as if Isaac owned the intelligence of a royal fly agaric, “Stiles is going to connect with their spark. For that-“ He turns to look at Stiles again- “You will give power to it and withdraw it again.”

“What?”

Peter sighs again. “Think of it as defibrillation.”

“Their spark is sucked _dry_ ,” Stiles reminds him.

“You are a trickster,” Peter sounds exasperated, as if he’s wondering why he’s got to babysit the kids who are known to cause the most trouble, “The rules of nature do not apply to you.” As Stiles continues to look at him dumbfounded, Peter groans. “Voids are supposed to be highly intelligent.”

“My ADHD kind of fucks with my concentration.”

Isaac snorts out a laugh.

“Fine.” Peter is close to gnashing his teeth. “Think of the spark as a candle. It’s still a candle although it doesn’t burn, right?” Stiles nods. “Ignite it.”

Okay. Is it just him or are they walking in circles? He does understand the concept of being a trickster, kind of. He’s read a lot the past night since he couldn’t sleep. It had been awfully quiet in his bedroom with Theo sleeping in the room opposite his. Although it’s only been a few days, he has already gotten used to the chimera’s presence during night-time.

“How?”

Peter closes his eyes for a brief moment, obviously trying to keep himself from doing something he might regret later on. “Imagination, Stiles.” Peter grabs his wrist and presses his hand against the dead guy’s collarbone. “Now, imagine the spark to be full with magic.”

Stiles frees his wrist. It’s not going to work if he feels Peter’s roar buzzing against his skin. Before the pool, he could touch whoever he wanted and didn’t sense anything. But Theo opened the floodgates, and now he feels _everything_. He needs to know how he can control that, too.

Glancing at Isaac, who still stands by the door and gives him an encouraging nod – at least he thinks it’s supposed to be encouraging – Stiles places his hand back on the body. This time, however, on his neck. He curls his middle and pointing finger just the slightest bit, to press their tips against the pulse point; trying his hardest to ignore the dark blue line.

It’s not as hard as he thought it would be, recalling the feeling of having a spark underneath his fingertips, that is. Although confusing as hell, he likes the buzz of energy. It feels alive and strong, powerful. So, he tries to project the buzz he had felt at the pool onto the dead body in front of him.

But his mind gets side-tracked quickly. He wonders who has sent the oni, and who will be next. And since he hasn’t taken his Adderall like Theo told him, it only gets downhill from here on out.

He pulls his hand back.

“And?” Isaac asks obviously glad to get out of here sooner than he expected.

Stiles shakes his head.

“Try again,” Peter says.

“I can’t focus,” Stiles hisses fumbling for his phone but Peter grabs him by the neck.

“I said _try again_.”

Isaac growls very low and very angry.

Melissa knocks on the door adamantly.

Peter lets go of him and Stiles pushes at his chest angrily. With raised hands, Peter steps away. Like this, his being on approbation will be dramatically shortened. Shaking his head, he speed-dials Theo’s number.

He answers after the second ring. “How’s it going?” Hearing his voice does things to Stiles which make him lucky that his chemo signals are odourless. This needs to stop. It really, _really_ does. He is getting too used to his presence.

“Exactly as you would expect without my meds,” Stiles replies.

Theo’s chuckle sounds distorted due to the rather poor connection. “It’s for the best.”

Stiles harrumphs. But Theo is probably right. After all he was kind of losing it the last time he’d used his medication. He’d rather not have anybody bleeding out at his feet while he draws runes on his body during a blackout. “Did you find a rune that could help me out here?” Stiles asks after a short silence, “I get side-tracked by all the stuff going on.” It’s as honest as he is going to become. He’s not going to mention Theo might be part of that stuff, too.

“We’ll see,” He replies, “I put you on speaker.” That means Mason is still with them. Liam would be able to hear him just fine either way.

Stiles scratches the back of his neck. “Okay, uh-“ What a great beginning, second to none, really- “I need to concentrate better so I can, uh, _imagine_ a spark?”

“Not imagine a spark,” Peter corrects unnerved, “You have to imagine the spark to be filled still.”

“Like, seeing with the inner eye?” Mason asks sounding as if he’s chewing on a pen.

Stiles glances at Peter raising his brows in question. The werewolf rolls his eyes. “Yes, something like that.”

“Haven’t we found something like sharpness of the eye?” Stiles can hear papers rustling. The sound of it is seriously concerning – how many runes have they found useful already?

“You mean voyance,” Theo says, “Where did we put the list with the enhancing runes?”

They even sorted the runes they found? This is getting better by the second. Maybe Stiles should let the three of them work more often as a team. They get work done; although he has the hunch that it might be Mason who is the driving force behind all the extra care they are putting into it. After all, the guy read up on kitsunes immediately and knew more about them than Kira herself – _before_ he even knew them that well in person.

That’s a lot of compassion; quite a similar amount had driven Stiles into the woods quite some time ago. This doesn’t bode well for any of them.

“Got it!” Liam calls, “Kind of looks like an eye, too.”

Makes sense, the rune on his hips means hiding from sight and it involves an eye as well.

“You gotta draw it in your palm,” Mason explains, “Like that, if you touch something, you see what you want to see.”

“I’ll send you a pic,” Theo says, “You know when you’ll be back?”

Stiles pinches the bridge of his nose. “Soon, hopefully. I hate the morgue.”

“Don’t forget the game tonight!” Liam reminds him for what feels like the thousandth time. It doesn’t really fit into his agenda but he promised Liam and Mason to come see their game; especially since they are going against their arch-nemesis Devenford Prep. Also, his father insisted that he needed at least a small break. It’s just an hour; a little more if he counts the drive to Beacon Hill High and back home again. He’s draining himself, Stiles knows it – but he is terrible at doing nothing.

“Yeah,” He says eventually, “Text you, when I got something.”

The rune is easy enough to draw; an abstract open eye with something like an upside-down tick for a pupil. So yeah, no challenge really. His hand shivers anyway as he cuts the mark into the palm of his right hand. Isaac wasn’t exaggerating the pain; it’s like being bitten by Donovan all over again just with an additional fire to those sharp teeth. Thank god, he isn’t fainting like he was back when Scott got his tattoo.

“You have to do that on your own eventually,” Peter reminds him. The sooner the better, probably, but Stiles isn’t stalling this time.

“Let’s save the city first,” Isaac cuts in.

Stiles flexes his fingers with a scowl. “Priorities, Peter.”

“Just do it,” He replies pulling a face, “I’d rather be somewhere else.”

“Who wouldn’t?” Isaac mutters.

Stiles focuses on the deformed body in front of him again. Okay. Now. He can totally do this. Can’t be that complicated to trick a dead spark back to life, right? Steeling himself for failure, he puts his hand where he has pulled it away from; fingertips pressing against the pulse point. That’s where life is most prominent – why not a spark as well? Doesn’t seem too far-fetched, right?

Great, let’s apply logic to a creature that doesn’t follow the rules of nature.

But as soon as the rune connects with the cold, dead skin something changes. It’s like someone sharpens his senses. Whatever power this particular spark had, comes to life under his touch. It’s a slow sensation, a low rumble first, barely palpable – and then suddenly Stiles is listening to the babble of a stream, then a river. Finally, it’s a storm tide. It’s even more powerful than the rumble of Kira’s thunder.

Stiles pulls his hand back, startled, then touches the second body. It’s the exact same, even more prominent now that he knows what he is looking for.

“They were kitsunes,” Stiles says looking at Peter as his words resurface slowly but surely. The French Revolution. A rogue void. A pack of kitsunes killing it. “ _Oh_ my god.” Everything just klicks into place, everything suddenly makes _sense_. “Dick, Dumbass and Dipshit aren’t trying to kill anyone – well, okay. They are killing kitsunes to protect me _because_ -“ He waves a hand at Isaac who is opening his mouth for an interruption – “for some reason – I need to think about that – but they are killing kitsunes because they are voids’ natural enemies. _That’s_ why the oni are here. They’re not looking for a nogitsune-“

“They’re looking for _you_.”

“Question is,” Stiles adds his voice so quiet he can barely hear it himself, “Do they know that?”

 

“The kanji means _heart_ ,” Kira explains in lieu of a greeting. She scrambles into the backseat of Theo’s car and fumbles with the seat belt. Lydia follows her with a frown. Everyone is already updated on what Stiles – most likely – figured out on his trip to the morgue. Nobody has been particularly convinced about his, even if logically founded, assumptions – and Stiles doesn’t want to think about how he should tell his father without stealing another few years from his life.

Stiles sits sideways on the passenger’s seat. “Anything else?”

“Lydia and I tested what my mom might now about voids,” She explains and raises her hands as Stiles stares at her in utter panic, “We didn’t say anything about you. But Theo said elements are kind of your thing?”

“They enhance his energy and the reports said that very powerful voids can control them, too.”

“No wonder kitsunes hate them,” Lydia mutters as Theo starts the car. True. Every kitsune has an affinity for a single element, they probably don’t like someone coming along and possessing the power to fuck with all of them at once _._

“Mom said that some lore talks about wizards. They were called elementals instead of voids but I guess they are kind of the same thing,” Kira explains leaning a little forward and towards Stiles, then she stiffens and shuffles back in her seat, “Apparently, it was them who created the thirteenth element, void, while the wolves were at war with the foxes. It was a nasty fight and the werewolves were losing, so the elemental created a dark fox spirit: the nogitsune. But I don’t think that’s quite right.”

“Not really.” Stiles scratches the inside of his palm with his thumb nail. His skin is healing there, the rune slowly fading. As it is, not every rune is actually permanent and every single one can be erased if needed. To do that, he has to trace the rune backwards; which is going to be hard because he doesn’t know how the other runes were drawn on his body.

Lydia taps Theo’s headrest with a pink coloured nail. “The elementals _are_ the void, that much we know. And nogitsunes and voids were accidentally lumped together.”

“Sounds logical,” Kira says.

“As logical as something can be who defies reality,” Theo adds with a raised brow.

Stiles punches his upper arm, frowning. “Nobody wants your negativity, man.” But he is fighting something like a smile and Theo grins, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye. It’s funny, seeing how in tune their minds are. Also, scary. Kind of.

As he turns to the backseats again, Lydia is looking at him in a peculiar way; a way Stiles knows all too well. She’s seen something, something she intends on figuring out.

“What about the oni?” Stiles asks to shift her attention back to the important things at hand; people are dying because of some fucking misconception of an ancient pack of kitsunes at war with an equally ancient pack of werewolves and its emissary. Maybe it’s even been the first one, maybe it had been stronger than everyone else before and accidentally turned into something entirely new and scary and even more powerful; something that had taken a life of its own as it had created an army of malicious fox spirits.

“They’re not mom’s… but you probably knew that.” Yes, in fact, he did. The nogitsune used her last tail. “Her kanji was reminiscent of the love she lost. Self. Mom guesses that the oni are looking for someone who doesn’t have a heart, lacks heart or has a heart that is surrounded by darkness.”

“ _Oh_.”

“What?” Theo glances at him with furrowed brows.

“As we were surrogate sacrifices, Deaton told us that the consequence would be some kind of darkness around our hearts.”

“Oh.” Lydia agrees.

“But they can’t sense you, right?” Kira sounds stressed, clearly remembering how hard it was to fight and kill an oni. They don’t know how old these are; but if Stiles thinks about how hard it was to get Liam to snap back into reality, they might be even older than those belonging to Noshiko. “The rune prevents that?”

“Hopefully,” Theo says and his fingers brush over Stiles’ thigh as he shifts gear.

 

The crowd makes him anxious. The full bleachers don’t give him the much-needed space. Although they are sitting behind the bench, where Mason is currently yelling encouragements to his losing teammates, and his pack surrounds him, Stiles feels constrained. There are so many different emotions, stress, anger, excitement, frustration, curling around him. It makes him anxious, drives him to the edge of his seat. He jiggles his leg, scratches his palm. Tuning the emotions out is like trying to get a radio station with a broken antenna. Not even Theo’s leg pressed against his helps. Neither do their collective screams of joy as Liam scores a goal.

Lydia squeezes him tightly as they jump to their feet. He’s been banned to the side lines often enough to remember this feeling all too well; but seldom he had someone he could hug after a successful move of his team.

Liam’s gaze flickers in their direction and he grins widely as he spots them cheering him on. Stiles hopes it gives him the kick the team so desperately needs to turn this game around. But as his own exhilaration leaves, the emotions of strangers are coming back. He knows now how the werewolves have to feel; he’ll probably get used to it eventually. _Hopefully_ , otherwise he will go insane.

As the break hits, Stiles excuses himself. Theo follows him, now even less willing to let him run around alone than before, although it is Kira they should worry about. Stiles doesn’t stop until the emotions are far away enough that they don’t actively bother him anymore. In fact, it’s the parking lot, close to where Theo’s car is currently parked.

“I don’t know how you do it,” Stiles says rolling his shoulders first forward, then backward, trying his hardest to get the tension out of it.

“Do what?” Theo puts his hands on his shoulders. It takes a second for his thumbs to find the exact spot. A groan leaves Stiles’ lips as he starts massaging his shoulders and neck; _fuck_ – can he rent him for hour long massages? Every day, maybe? Especially after studying for days on end while being forced to sit on the uncomfortable chairs of their library?

“Tune out all those emotions.”

“You’ll get used to it,” Theo says and that’s exactly what Stiles didn’t want to hear. He has honestly hoped there might be some kind of magic trick. Maybe there is a rune he can use. Considering the lists piling up on his desk; there has got to be one for basically everything.

Stiles huffs out a breath.

Theo’s hands find his hips again, bodies pressed together. “Try to ignore them,” He says quietly, “Concentrate on something else.”

Stiles turns around, quite the task with their bodies this close. “I want you to concentrate with ADHD.”

Theo smirks, inches closer. Yes, Stiles wouldn’t mind. Actually, he’d very much like to – but suddenly, Theo steps away from him. His cocky demeanour changes into annoyance as he turns around. Stiles follows his movements. Because _someone_ doesn’t want him to have a good and relaxing time. Instead, Scott and Malia are jogging in their direction. The latter doesn’t look like she wants to have a nice catch up on what has been happening since the last time she was shot down by Theo; and he is not thinking about the time Theo _literally_ shot her and left her for the Desert Wolf.

“We came to talk,” Scott begins but his hand is tightly wrapped around Malia’s wrist. She obviously hasn’t gotten that memo.

“About?” Stiles asks.

Theo stands close enough that their bodies align from shoulder to hip.

Scott glances at Theo. “You know.”

_Of course_. “Go ahead.” Stiles crosses his arms jostling against Theo in the process. “Tell me how I shouldn’t trust him, how he manipulates me etcetera, etcetera?”

Theo chuckles at his side. Malia growls low in her throat. Her anger is a clear emotion in the air, thick enough that it feels the way the air feels when you’re standing close to a fire. Maybe it isn’t even anger anymore; maybe it is pure and simple hatred.

“Please, Stiles, think about it-“ Scott takes a step towards him but stops again, obviously remembering that Theo wouldn’t let him get too close. “You changed so much since he’s back.”

_Funny_. That’s an ambiguous funny, by the way. For one, Stiles hasn’t changed since he’s back. He was changing before, slowly but surely morphing into something else, into _himself_. Parents of gawky children always say that they will grow into their limbs eventually. The same thing happened to him; but it wasn’t his body he grew into but his personality. It has started with the nogitsune, maybe even before, in any way it has been most notably after. For another, Scott has changed as well. His best friend would’ve noticed him changing. His best friend would’ve seen that something was simply _wrong_ after Donovan’s death.  

Scott and Stiles have never been similar. In fact, they’ve been carved out of different material – one black, one white. One dark, one light. At first glance, they shouldn’t have been friends in the first place. But Stiles has always been sure their differences are the reason they worked out in the end. They balanced each other out.

But Scott has changed soon after he had been bitten by Peter; and their balance became disrupted. Suddenly, Scott became a boy who kissed his best friend’s crush of multiple years. Scott became a boy who’d put strangers above their friendship, a boy who’d trick their allies to reach his goal – and all the way, he stayed put on his moral high ground while Stiles did the dirty work in the shadows, while Stiles was reminded that he was _human_ ; and they made it sound so pitiful – as if being human was such a bad thing.

Stiles would rather stay human than lose sight of what’s important.

“If you trust him so much,” Malia spits as his reply never happens, although he has so much to say, “Maybe you should ask him about Donovan.”

Theo tenses beside him and that tells more than any explanation ever could. Cutting through the thick and foggy hatred, Stiles couldn’t sense Scott’s emotions. By the look on his face, it is something akin to sadness, perhaps even disappointment. But Stiles notices the stale air of guilt coming from Theo, he notices the suffocating regret.

“I think we all know what he did,” Stiles replies eventually. He’s never actively given it any thought because it has never been important. But honestly, it isn’t the biggest revelation in history.

Theo sent Donovan after Stiles. That much is obvious. He knew the second Theo had told him this idiotic story about Malia calling everyone to find out where Stiles is when she had been the one to leave his sorry ass at the library in the first place – and she doesn’t necessarily grasp the concept of letting someone else do something because it’s easier. She doesn’t think in those ways, that’s not possible for her. No matter how much she pretends, first and foremost she will be a coyote; at least for a few more years.

“And we forgive him?” Malia asks irritated.

“Frankly, I don’t give a shit about what you do,” Stiles remarks sharply, “Or what you think about him. For all I care, you can hate him until the day you die.”

“Stiles-“

“No, listen to me, McCall,” Stiles snaps, “He’s made mistakes, lots of mistakes, and it will take a lot of time to trust him. But eventually, I will.” Because Theo had been to Hell, he’s paid for what he did. There will be a way he can redeem himself. It’s not going to be easy, and he will make mistakes again and he will have to learn a lot. But Stiles has grasped what Theo needs and what he wants, and he is ready to show him how he can achieve it despite his moral compass being broken.

“I don’t understand-“

“Let me explain it to you in a way you and your small-minded companion will understand,” Stiles says gesturing towards Malia without so much as a glance. He’s cruel, he knows. But he can’t help it. He’s so fucking angry; and some people noticed very soon that Stiles isn’t all sunshine and rainbows. “Nothing he’d done came unexpected, so it’s not like he broke any kind of trust I had in him. But you-“ Oh, _you_. “All that blind faith I had in you, again and again and again. I trusted you after you kissed Lydia, I trusted after you used Derek. I trusted after you framed Derek for murder, over and over and over I rebuild my trust because you are my brother. But even I have to realise that a sinking ship can only be kept afloat for so long.”

“Stiles, don’t-“

“I gave you the chance to apologize, instead you shoved your own mistake back in my face to feel better,” Stiles hisses. He’d speak louder but he doesn’t trust his voice enough to carry the message without breaking halfway through.

_You trusted him too_.

Scott makes a step towards him, but stops at nothing but a twitch of Theo’s hand. “I’m sorry, Stiles. I am really sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t cover it, not this time.” He feels exhaustion kick in, as well as desperation. He doesn’t want to repeat it like a broken record. “I will say this once; Theo is my pack, he is under _my_ protection.”

Scott narrows his eyes. “He’s got you right where he wants you.”

“We’re going back to the game now.” Stiles gently nudges Theo in the right direction.

Theo scoffs and the smirk send in Scott and Malia’s direction isn’t totally necessary, admitted, but he honestly didn’t expect the latter to go nuts because of it. Like he’s done in the woods, Theo pushes Stiles aside but this time, it doesn’t come as a surprise. Even if exceptionally clumsy, Stiles manages to get in front of Theo.

But it doesn’t feel like moving, more like snaps into his rightful place.

Malia is just within range, eyes wide with surprise as her goal is suddenly protected. But she is too fast to stop now. Stiles grabs her by the throat. He can feel a growl building in his own, similar to Malia’s spark – but much more threatening.

It’s over.

He is done with people attacking his pack; and this time, he is going to make a statement.

With ease, Stiles lifts her off the ground. His fingertips dig into her throat; his nails would leave little half-moons if not for her supernatural healing. This is the place where her life is. This is the place where he can stop it.

“Stiles-“ Theo grabs his arm.

Malia whimpers, eyes wide and hands firmly clasped around his wrist.

“I just said something, didn’t I?” Stiles asks and his voice sounds so strange to his own ears, dark and dangerous, slow and malicious.

“Stiles,” Theo urges, “ _Stiles_!”

“Let go of me,” Stiles hisses, and as if forced, Theo complies immediately. With eyes flashing a bright yellow, he gets a couple of steps distance between the two of them – his hands curled at his side and head bowed down.

“This is the last time someone attacks my pack,” Stiles snarls, fingers digging harder into her throat. It’s choking her; and Stiles almost relishes in the panic flaring in her features.  

Then, there is a roar and somebody slams into him. He drops Malia at that, who crumples to the ground like a broken toy. Stiles skids over the ground, gravel scratching at the fabric of his sweater. He’s confused and alarmed, almost surprised. Scott is on top of him, partly shifted, and pins him down. They’ve been in this situation before, Stiles remembers astonished; it was just the other way around then.

“What is wrong with you?!” Scott growls.

But before Stiles can come up with a reply, before he can even comprehend what the hell happened in the first place, someone yanks Scott off him. With a snarl, he is pushed to the floor and then hold in place with a foot on his throat.

Malia snarls again but she doesn’t move from where she sits on the floor; he hand still wrapped around her throat.

“Stiles!” Lydia kneels beside him, arms tightly wrapped around his shoulder.

Theo joins her. Hesitantly, he puts a hand down on Stiles’ neck. He can feel the presence of his hand hovering above his skin, almost as if Theo isn’t sure he’s allowed to touch again.

“What happened?” Kira asks confused. She stands between Stiles and Isaac, who has moved his foot to Scott’s chest. Isaac’s eyes are still a bright yellow, narrowed and full of something Stiles can’t interpret from here. But his clenched fists and straight posture tell a different language. He would attack, if he had to; if Stiles _wanted_ him to.

And suddenly, Stiles’ throat closes. “No.” His voice is a broken whisper. “No, no, no, no-“ He looks at Malia and presses back into Lydia and Theo; he presses into the people who ground him. Lydia lets go, gives him the chance to turn. Then she embraces him tightly and whispers words Stiles cannot understand as he hides his face in the crook of her neck, trying not to have a panic attack.

It’s Theo, who explains what happened.

Maybe, Stiles thinks, it would be better if the oni find him quickly.


	11. They All Fall Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had a terrible week. I WILL answer to your comments tomorrow! Love and thanks to all of you, who are still here <3

Theo cradles his face and bumps his nose against Stiles’ again and again. Such a kind and gentle gesture, something he doesn’t deserve. “My sister used to do that every time I was upset,” Theo explains quietly, “Inuit kisses.” It’s rather odd to hear him talk so genuinely fond about his sister when Stiles knows it came to a point where Theo had been hateful enough that he decided to kill and steal her heart.

Stiles wonders what might happen if he upsets Theo, too.

He wonders what happens if Theo keeps on disliking Isaac for insane reasons. 

Theo is dangerous but Stiles keeps forgetting because he is always so different with him, almost nice and normal. _Human_. He’s been closer to Lydia as well, and Liam doesn’t radiate guilt anymore every time he looks at Theo. Stiles is scared that it’s just another manipulation, that Theo preys on his very own weaknesses the way Stiles does. But he does it to make Theo understand that he is worth something, he has found another broken toy he can repair. He’s done it before – his father, Lydia, Derek, even Malia.

He doesn’t want Theo to be the exception of the rule.

“Do you want to be alone?” Theo asks sitting back on his heels.

Stiles shakes his head. “But I don’t want to talk.” Not about what happened just an hour ago. He forced himself back to the game, distracted enough that the emotions didn’t bother him anymore. Lydia held his hand throughout the rest of it. They left shortly after the end. Devenford won but it was close. Next time, perhaps.

Stiles closes his eyes for a second, heart hammering against his ribs.

He’s gotten many self-destructive urges in the eighteen years of his life, looking for a dead body in the middle of the night and hitting a mutant alpha werewolf over the head with a wooden baseball bat are only two on this particular list. Maybe it is just another addition – although he doesn’t know where to place it in terms of ranking – or it isn’t. It might not be. It feels a lot less dangerous than what he’s done before.

Stiles grabs the collar of Theo’s stupid rose jumper, curling his fingers in the soft fabric; pointedly not meeting his eyes. But the skip in his heartbeat has him unmasked anyway. Theo knows it, is able to differentiate between its pounds, is aware what every skip means. Being this known scares the shit out of him. Especially when it is someone who can turn it against him so easily.

“Are you sure?”

But he is more afraid of something else; giving up control. Ever since his mother’s death, Stiles is meticulously planning everything, is aware of every step he takes – even when it’s something completely mad. Or especially then. That’s why the nogitsune used blackouts against him, that’s why it made him think he suffered the same illness that had killed her.

“Don’t make me regret this.” It’s the closest he could ever come to _don’t hurt me._

Theo doesn’t answer. Instead he presses their lips together. It’s only the second time they kiss but Stiles already knows this is different. It’s raw with emotion and urgent with something a long time coming. Stiles fumbles for a better hold on Theo and yanks him closer. The chimera follows the movement with a chuckle and wraps his arms around Stiles waist, holding him this way.

Stiles buries one hand in Theo’s hair, wraps his other arm around neck and shoulders. His fingers curl into the soft fabric of the jumper, pulling at it. He doesn’t want them to take their time.

Theo gets the hint.

He gets to his feet and yanks the sweater over his head, then he pulls Stiles into a standing position before he is even able to admire the sight. His back hits the wall and Theo kisses him again, licks into his mouth in a way that makes Stiles weak in the knees. His hands find their way back again, one in the short hair, the other pressed against the skin between his shoulder blades – for the briefest of seconds, Stiles is confused that the skin isn’t inked there.

But he is here with Theo, kissing Theo, wanting Theo. Maybe he is using him to feel better, maybe he is finally acting on something that’s been there for a while now – maybe it’s a combination of both.

Stiles moves his hand anyway, clutching Theo’s shoulder.

The kiss breaks again. “Where are you, Stiles?”

“In my bedroom with you.”

“Where do you want to be?”

Theo noticed, that’s why he is asking. He noticed that, for a moment, Stiles wondered why he wasn’t someone else. It’s not because Stiles wants it to be Derek; he’s just confused that it’s so easy now when it should have been back then as well. But the past is the past, and Stiles isn’t going to run after it, never would.

“Right here.”

Theo kisses him again. His hands slip into the pockets of Stiles’ jeans, pulling their hips together – Theo is already hard against him. That and the _want_ curling around him like a second skin. He wonders what it would smell like, he wonders what Theo could smell if it weren’t for the rune hiding him.

Stiles pushes him away then, ridding himself of his own shirt. They stare at each other for a moment – Stiles watches Theo take in the scar on his abdomen, the rune on his hip. His eyes skip to the little scar Stiles had gotten when he’d been young and had fallen down the stairs; then to his shoulder where just the edge of Donovan’s scar is visible. Stiles wonders how breakable he must seem for someone who heals within seconds.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Theo mutters and grabs Stiles again. This time, they land on his bed and the control slips through his fingers from there, the self-consciousness takes hold. He doesn’t know where to put his hands, what to do with them – but Theo takes the lead without hesitation, hovering over Stiles. He isn’t smirking down at him, like anticipated. Instead he just _watches_ and Stiles has never felt so wanted. Theo looks at him like he wants to study each and every piece of him - his eyes burning on his skin.

As Theo kisses him now it’s like a punch to the gut, not in brutality. It doesn’t hurt. But it’s full of an intensity Stiles’ body doesn’t know how to process. It reacts with an ache, the ache to want more, to need more. _Closer_.

Stiles leans up but Theo presses him down with a hand on his stomach. “Let me,” He whispers, voice lower than usual, “Just relax.” But his lips are too soft as they brush against the skin right underneath his jaw and his hands too gentle as they hold him in place.

With a huff, Stiles buries a hand in Theo’s strands again and yanks his head back. The snarl is instant on his lips, eyes flashing yellow for barely a second. His grip on Stiles’ hips tighten, a reminder that there wouldn’t be much Stiles _could_ do. Their strength to strength ratio is out of balance. If he wanted to, Theo could do whatever he liked. Perhaps Stiles would let him. Maybe Stiles wouldn’t mind.

“I don’t break easy.” He places a hand on Theo’s shoulder and pushes. They turn quickly, Stiles now straddling his hips. It’s such a strange situation, he is currently finding himself in – and now what?  

Something flickers over Theo’s expression, something Stiles can’t read. Then his grin returns, wicked and _oh-so_ intrigued by the implication. “Whatever you want,” He breathes. The way he says it, the way he looks at him. Stiles shudders unconditionally – and as Theo rolls his hips, his eyes close on their own volition.

There is a finger on his jaw, then teeth. He’s biting, gentle at first. Lips, teeth and tongue keep exploring his body, accompanied by curious fingertips. Stiles never expected it to happen this way but then again, he’d stopped thinking about sex quite some time ago. But now it’s back on his mind and his body is burning. He can feel Theo everywhere, on his skin, under his skin. Around him. There is an ache stemming from want, from need. _Fuck_ , he wants him so bad. They fall back, kissing, exploring – moving against each other, with each other. Naked skin sliding over naked skin, hot breath mixing. Theo only gets up for a moment, ridding them both of the remaining clothes, but it feels like forever. There is a chuckle resonating through the room at Stiles’ whine. Then he is back on him, weight covering Stiles, biting his neck, his shoulder, his hip. It’s hard enough to leave bruises, hard enough to make him twitch, make him hiss. But Theo knows what to do, knows when to be rough and when to be gentle, knows when to stop and when to continue. They are opposites, contrasts.

But maybe they aren’t that out of balance.

They are moving again, in sync and attuned – like they’ve done this a million times before, like they know each other inside out. Stiles has never heard his name like that, a whisper full of wonder, desperation; a sound he won’t be able to forget for the life of his. He’s clinging to shreds of his control, clawing at Theo, breath ragged. Their movements become erratic, helpless – a choreography of instincts.

And as they come undone, Stiles feels as if he’s losing a part of himself.

 

“Hey.” A soft voice, accompanied by a gentle hand cupping his cheek. “Look at you, batman.”

Stiles blinks against the sun illuminating his room. “Erica?”

Her red coloured lips curl upwards, thumb tracing his cheekbone. “Don’t wake up.” She whispers, “It can’t hear us, when you’re asleep.”

“What?”

“The nemeton,” She says and her voice has dropped so low that he can barely make it out, “It never wanted you to wake up.”

“Why?” His hazy thoughts start to form, start to string together something coherent. He can feel an arm around his waist, fingertips pressing against the curve of his hip bone. They feel more real than Erica’s hand.

“Balance,” She says sounding hastier now, “There is a way to put void back to sleep. But you can also sever your connection to the nemeton. They cannot exist side by side. You have to choose.”

Breath is ghosting over his jaw and neck; a voice begs for attention at the back of his mind. He wants to know much more but there is only one logical question. “Who should I choose?”

“The one whose promises you trust.”

“Erica-“

“I have to go now, Stiles.”

“Erica!”

“Stiles!” Theo leans over him, fingers curled around his shoulders.

Confused, Stiles looks up at him. It takes a couple of seconds to remember why exactly Theo is lying in his bed, pressed to his back more naked than not. Then it clicks. _Right_. That happened. He shoves the giddy feeling down and away and forces a question in the foreground; where does it leave them? Acquaintances with benefits? _Friends_ with benefits? Are they having an affair? They sure as hell aren’t dating or something of the like.

“You were talking in your sleep.”

Stiles frowns. “What did I say?”

“Who is Erica?” There is a cold edge in Theo’s voice, alarming if he were talking to someone else. And those drawn in eyebrows aren’t indicating worry about Stiles talking in his sleep.

“She was Hale pack.” Stiles turns on his back watching as the past tense soothes Theo’s expression to something like mild interest. “Her kidnappers killed her.” He didn’t even tell her he was sorry, that he should’ve found her quicker. But how real are his dreams? How real are those ghosts visiting him?

Theo is quiet and that’s okay. Stiles hardly expected some form of comfort. Not like this. Not from him. Death means nothing to him. But maybe that will change now that he has a real pack himself.

“Someone once told me that losing a pack member is like losing a limb,” Stiles says, his voice barely louder than his breathing, “I think it’s worse. It’s like someone cuts you open, rips part of your soul away and puts something tainted back in. And although you’re healing, you’re never going to be truly okay again.” He rolls onto his side, away from Theo. While the other lets him, his hand never leaves his body. “No wonder that void had gone mad after his whole pack had been slaughtered. There mere threat of someone hurting you-“

“Is that why you attacked Malia?”

Stiles nods. Yeah. _He_. But it didn’t completely feel like himself then. It’s as if something nudged him in the right direction, as if something took a life of it’s own – and that’s scary but it’s also very reassuring. This time, he can actively fight for his friends. He can protect them with more than just a baseball bat. He will choose- Stiles flinches upright. “A promise.”

“What?” Theo sits up as well, confused now.

Stiles turns to look at him. “The riddle!” He gets to his feet, stumbling over the blanket wrapped around his ankles. “What can be broken without being touched?” He opens his curtains, blinking against the early rays of sunshine. “I never thought about it but- it’s made a promise to protect all of you and the nemeton just told me I would kill everyone.”

“ _Told_ you?” Theo gets to his feet. “Stiles, what the hell are you talking about?”

Stiles opens his mouth, then closes it again biting the inside of his cheek. Maybe he shouldn’t have stayed quiet. Maybe he should’ve told them from the very beginning that this one dream wasn’t the only one. He should’ve told them about the flashes of his doppelganger, about Allison and Aiden talking about some fucking door and now Erica. All those dead people, all those he couldn’t save.

“Listen to me,” Stiles begs placing his hands on Theo’s cheeks; a gesture of comfort, of trust and intimacy, “The nemeton tricks me with my fear of the nogitsune. It knows my weaknesses. It knows every little part of me – and it knows that I’d rather die than to let anything happen to my pack.” It’s the truth, enough of the truth that he hopes Theo is swayed from whatever thought he had before.

“You’re not making sense-“

“Trust me, Theo.”

“We’re going to call Lydia now.” Theo shakes his head. “That’s something we should’ve done from the start.”

Stiles tries to grab his hand but Theo pushes him away with a warning snarl. Irritated, he steps back. “They are just visions.”

“Visions, _plural_.” Theo gestures for a moment, then stops and runs his fingers through his dishevelled hair. “You are talking to _dead_ people. We need a banshee.”

“I’m not talking to _them_ ,” Stiles snaps, “They are just projections Void and the nemeton are using to talk to me. Nothing else.”

“We don’t know that!”

“So _what_ \- you’re going to ask Lydia to talk to her dead best friend _and_ the guy she dated, who has also been killed?” Stiles pushes himself off the desk but Theo grabs him by his elbows, forcing him back again; moves him like it’s nothing – and Stiles can’t do anything about it. Or maybe he could, maybe he could make him listen, maybe he could make him _stop_.

“Yes,” Theo hisses after a pause, “ _Yes_ , what you’re doing is dangerous.”

“I’m not doing _anything_.”

“Get dressed.”

“No.”

Theo snarls again, his shoulders rigid with tension. “We need to-“

“I said _no_!” Stiles puts as much emphasis on the last word as possible. It’s not a request, not a plea to keep this secret between the two of them. It’s an order, and he pulls up every single memory of how Derek sounded. Perhaps he cannot snarl or growl like a wolf – but he can damn well make his pack _listen_ to him. Because that’s what this is, isn’t it? Isaac, Liam and Theo, they all have been reacting to his orders; a flash of their eyes, bowing to his every whim. It’s why nobody brought up the topic of an alpha.

They already have one.

Growling, Theo leaves the room.

 

“He is like that since I came here.” There is a poignant pause as if he expects an apology, then he adds, “An hour ago.”

In fact, since Theo had ran off in the morning – as in got dressed and left the house – Stiles stayed in his room. For the firs in a long, long time he doesn’t have the energy to leave the bed. He feels drained and tired. He only talked briefly to his father, giving the impression that everything was fine when it really isn’t. It’s not even about Theo leaving. It’s about everything that had happened the last few days and what will happen in the next few. He knows something terrible is about to go the fuck down; and nothing he does can change that.

Fuck going through hell.

 _Fuck_ everything.

“And you stayed?”

“I thought it might be a good idea since his shadow is nowhere to be found.” It says a lot about Peter that he hasn’t moved from Stiles’ desk chair since he entered through the window for their daily trainings session. Not that he actually cares about Stiles’ wellbeing. He probably thinks that playing nice will get him to his goal faster.

“He doesn’t look good.” The frown in Lydia’s voice is audible.

Peter scoffs. “I figured since he usually is always moving somehow.”

“He didn’t _move_?”

“Not since I got here.” Stiles hears his desk chair scrape against the floor. “Didn’t say a word either.”

Silence hovers over them a few seconds. Lydia probably wonders how to approach him. It’s new to everyone. His body’s default mode is moving, his brain set on talking. But with Theo gone and nobody to distract him from his thoughts, nobody to protect him from his world coming down around him – he just feels overwhelmed; and his being overwhelmed almost always leads to him shutting down until he breaks. It happened with Donovan too.

“Stiles,” She says eventually.

“No,” He replies.

Peter sighs. “I see how it is.”

“Shut up.” But he rolls onto his back, well aware that Lydia would make him anyway. So, there isn’t really a point in drawing it out.

“Look, it talks,” Peter smirks down on him.

Stiles narrows his eyes but doesn’t say anything.

“Where is Theo?” Lydia points out the elephant in the room. It’s the obvious question, really, considering that the two of them haven’t been separated unless they had to be.

Stiles sits up, rubbing the back of his neck. “We fought, he left.” He really doesn’t want to tell her the whole story; at least not with Peter witnessing everything first hand. The smirk on his lips is enough already, he doesn’t need any more teasing or annoying commentary from him.

Lydia raises her brows. “About what?”

“Nothing important.”

“Try again.” Right. Theo has been very adamant about not leaving his sorry ass. Why would he now just because they had an argument about _nothing important._

Stiles clenches his teeth.

“Or you start with what’s on your neck.” Lydia presses a finger right on the spot where Theo bit him. It doesn’t need a genius to know how and why this bruise got there.

“That happened because I did something stupid,” Stiles admits hesitantly. Her expression indicates that he doesn’t need to get into detail about what that _stupid_ thing was. Peter’s presence saves him from that particular explanation. “But it’s not why he left.”

“I figured,” She deadpans.

Stiles glares at her.

Lydia raises a brow.

“Theo thinks I’m talking do dead people,” Stiles hisses through clenched teeth, “And he wanted to tell you. I said he shouldn’t freak out about nothing and he left.”

“He meant the dream you had.”

“Dreams,” Stiles mutters, “Plural.”

Lydia obviously considers tearing him a new one. Instead of giving in to this desire, she breathes in and out. “Dreams?” She echoes with a voice full of barely contained anger, “And who visited you in those dreams?”

“I don’t think anybody visited me,” Stiles shoots back annoyed, “I think they're projections fro-“

“ _Who_ visited you?”

“First it was Aiden and Allison, tonight it was Erica.”

Lydia narrowed her eyes at him.

Peter smirks fades. “Members of your old packs.”

Stiles nods. “More or less.”

“What did they want?” Lydia asks voice pointedly even.

“Allison and Aiden want me to, quote unquote, shut the door. They also remind me, that I’m going to kill everyone.” Stiles looks at his fingers. “Erica told me I can’t be connected to the nemeton and Void, and that I wasn’t supposed to wake up.” He glances at Lydia again. “Listen, I just-“

“ _Shush_!” She raises her hand but there is a slight trembling in her movements. Stiles snaps his mouth shut, gnashing his teeth again. “The evening you drew the runes?“

“I saw Allison and Aiden,” Stiles answers, “It was probab-“

“And you never thought that it might be a good idea to tell any of us?” Lydia inquires sharply.

“Yes, I mean no,” He corrects before she has the chance to snap at him again, “It’s just that I don’t think-“

“I can’t believe you di-“

“Let me _talk_ ,” Stiles hisses.

Lydia snaps her mouth shut and stares at him in astonishment. Under different circumstances, she would have reprimanded him. It didn’t matter that he has every right to tell her to shut up. She has the same right to be aggravated with him and his silence and usually Stiles would’ve let her, because he’s made a mistake, because she should remind him about who they are. The trust they have in each other is founded on absolute clarity and honesty. They don’t keep secrets from each other.

Stiles opens and closes his mouth, fingers clawing into his blanket.

“Now I understand why Derek never managed to put you in your place.” Peter laughs; a laugh that is dipped in cold amusement. A terrible and dreadful sound.

Stiles doesn’t deign it with an answer. “Sorry, I just-“ He gestures quickly, then presses his fingertips back against the safe fabric of his blanket. “I don’t believe they are ghosts, you know? I guess they’re just used by the nemeton and Void to talk to me. Especially since Erica told me, I need to get rid of one or the other.”

“You should’ve told me anyway.” Lydia sounds more than piqued but, mature as she is, she puts it aside. “Getting rid of one or the other?”

“Either I am a void or I continue being the nemeton’s ambassador.” That’s probably the reason, he can’t fucking do his magic without focusing it through the runes. The reports are speaking of sudden outbreaks – like at the pool – and not of magical constipation. Theo warned him about being focused as well because that’s what would make his power explode. Also, the nemeton tried to prevent the worst, as in Stiles having a power source, from happening and sent Aiden and Allison after him. It makes sense, to some extent. Stiles feels personally responsible for both their deaths, even wanted to die because of it; smart to use that against him.

But not smart enough.

“So, you can be human again?” Lydia asks.

Stiles shrugs. That’s what Erica said after all; and if he is correct in his assumption that Void used her to talk to him, then that’s far more trustworthy. After all, the nemeton only told Stiles to get rid of Void, while Void told him that there is a way to shut both out.

“Question is,” Peter interrupts leaning forward in the chair he obviously marked as his personal throne, “Do you want to be human again?”

Only yesterday evening, Stiles would have said _yes_. He wanted the oni to find him. He wanted nothing more than to stop becoming what he fears the most; someone who could hurt his friends that easily. It was until Erica, it was then that he understood what he can be when he set his mind to it. He can protect them.

He can protect all of them.

“How do I sever my connection to the nemeton?” Stiles finally pushes the blanket away from him.

Peter opens his mouth.

“ _Without_ burning it down,” Lydia interrupts him before he has a chance to say anything.

“As I was trying to say,” Peter continues as if nothing happened, “Maybe the connection rips the more you tap into your power.”

That sounds almost too easy to be true. Then again, why would the nemeton try to stop him from getting a source if he were to be connected to it anyway? Perhaps Peter is correct. Still, it doesn’t usually go over as smoothly as one thinks it might. There is almost always some form of retribution; it’s doomed to go wrong. But Stiles has to get rid of the nemeton, he _has_ to. It can’t go on like this. If he keeps being torn between Void and the nemeton, something terrible will happen. He can sense it.

And then, it hits him.

_Kira._

 

As she gets out of her father’s car, Stiles pulls her into a hug. He hasn’t been aware how panicky he has been until the feeling peels away now that he sees her being fine and unharmed. Although it feels slightly odd hugging her, Stiles pulls her even closer. She makes a small surprised sound. Her shoulder blades move underneath his hands – and just as Stiles is about to let go of her – she hugs him back.

“I’m okay.” It doesn’t need the IQ of 170 to get why he’s been unusually touchy. As it is, Lydia and he are close enough that Stiles doesn’t mind touching her in any kind of way. Yes, Theo and he have been closer in terms of being physical but it left fingerprints all over his mental spectrum, whereas Lydia or his father wouldn’t, would never. He’s not good with comfort shown in a physical manner; he’s not good with people being too close. But this is fine, this is actually okay.

Stiles lets go of her, awkwardly rubbing the back of his head. “Sorry, I was just-“ He shrugs, crossing his arms – “Worried I guess.”

“Thanks?” Kira laughs chasing away the uncomfortable feeling nagging at Stiles.

“He says he has the feeling something bad is about to happen.” Lydia pushes a strand of hair out of her face. “After Liam we decided to take it serious.”

“Especially with you being a kitsune,” Liam adds.

Kira nods. “What are we doing here?” She gestures towards the entrance to the underground tunnels.

“Stiles located Theo’s phone here,” Isaac explains sounding positively unamused to have been pulled out of bed – it was a little after noon, mind you. But everybody’s sleep schedule is totally screwed after the recent events, so Stiles isn’t particularly offended by his grumpy mood. He came without any questions, as did Kira – and that’s what counts. Even Peter is still with them, although he’s probably just trying to get on his good side.

“And why would Theo be here?”

“That’s what we’re trying to find out.” Stiles ignores the horrible feeling. It curls and unfolds slowly, keeping him on edge. But he doesn’t wait any longer. He hurries into the tunnels, not yet running but almost. His worry pushes him forward and the footsteps of his pack echoing give him a sense of courage. Whatever will happen, he is not alone. They can push through, they’ve gone through worse.

Liam grabs his wrist, stops him. “Here-“ He points to the left – “He’s over here.”

Stiles nods, his throat clogging up. Maybe the werewolves cannot smell his emotions anymore, but that doesn’t mean they don’t notice how churned up he is on the inside. As Liam takes another turn, Isaac has to grab him by the arm. There is a lot going on in his head, he is absentminded – thousands of _what if_ s find a place in his thought; one more terrifying than the next. He’s trying so hard to protect the people he cares about, the people of his pack, that he is terribly frightened something could have happened to Theo. And it would be his fault. It would be _his_ fault because he let Theo leave in the first place.

Suddenly, Peter raises a hand and stops them all. Lydia grabs Stiles’ hand tight enough that it could be considered painful. Kira draws her katana.

“He’s never going to give her up.” _Theo_. He’s alive. But he sounds tired, almost weak. Maybe he’s hurt. Isaac keeps Stiles from moving forward, and Peter is still standing in his way. “No matter what you throw in his way, he will win. He will end you.” There is a certainty in his voice that unfolds a sudden rage inside of Stiles – not because of what Theo says but because someone dares, yet again, to threaten his pack. “And I will help him.”

A laugh ricochets; dark and dangerous. Not even Peter or Theo could come close to that noise – and the two of them have some serious villainous tendencies.

“That is very unfortunate for you, Theodore.”

Stiles frees himself from Isaac and Lydia, then he pushes past Peter who tries but fails to grab him. There is a sudden force deep within him, one that drives him forward like it had in the woods upon hearing Lydia’s scream; the same one he has been afraid of just yesterday evening. This time, however, he doesn’t need to worry about hurting anybody – and that takes a lot of fear away. He might not feel as in control as he once had but as he skitters around the next corner, he knows for a fact, that he can take on everything.

Theo, who crouches against a wall – pale and wide-eyed – whips his head around. That movement alone seems enough to threaten his balance. He pushes a hand against the cold stone, then slumps to the floor and presses a hand to his shoulder. There is blood on his fingers, not much but enough that it fuels the rage inside him.

“Mieczyslaw.”

Stiles turns his attention to the other man in the room. He doesn’t know which of the brothers he is confronted with. But there is a quiet voice in his head, who fills this information gap. “Dain, isn’t it?” He crosses his arms and cannot help a smirk as surprise crosses over the magician’s face. “Good to know you’ve got your pronunciation down.”

“That name is child abuse,” Peter informs all of them with misplaced amusement.

Stiles rolls his eyes. Dain does the same; something they have in common as it seems. “And you are?” He asks annoyed, “You’re not in his pack.”

“I’m just here because my nephew would kill me if something were to happen to this sarcastic ball of sunshine.”

“Just-“ Stiles turns around with narrowed eyes – “Shut up.”

“ _Sunshine_ ,” Peter repeats.

Isaac rolls his eyes.

“Back to you,” Stiles says turning around to face Dain again, “Threatening my pack? Do you think that is a good idea?” He moves a little closer, reducing the distance between himself and the magician. No member of his pack steps in. Not because they wouldn’t but because Stiles doesn’t need them to, doesn’t _want_ them to. This is between Dain and him. This is personal.

“It’s true then.” Dain casts a look to Theo, curling his lip in disgust. “You’re the alpha.”

Stiles does as well. Lydia and Kira both have found their way to the chimera, kneeling at his side. Theo still seems as if he can’t even stand on his own. But he holds Dain’s gaze with hatred worth a lifetime. If he had the strength, he would kill him with his bare hands. As it is, he doesn’t move a muscle – and the gash in his shoulder doesn’t stop bleeding.  “What did you do?” Stiles’ voice betrays the fury inside him.

“I tried to calm his temper a little,” Dain replies not as relaxed anymore.

Stiles narrows his eyes. “By carving a hole into his shoulder?”

“Using this.” Dain draws his eyebrows in, clearly annoyed by something. Well, probably because they rained on his parade. Whatever he attempted to do with or to Theo isn’t going to happen anymore. Not as long Stiles stands in his way – and he won’t be budging. After a second of hesitation, he pulls out the dagger they have been using on him and Deaton; the one that drains the spark of everyone. It makes sense. _That’s_ why Theo doesn’t heal, doesn’t get up from the ground although his mimic conveys nothing but the desire to attack. That’s Why Stiles has been feeling so terrible today.

“You couldn’t use your power against him?” Stiles snarls, “You needed to attack him?”

“I’m not one to deny a little pain,” Dain replies.

“Give me the knife.”

There is hesitation. His fingers tighten around the handle. “No.”

Rejection is something Stiles has become inured to as he had had the biggest crush on Lydia. During that time, it was a constant companion. That’s not bad. It shaped him quite nicely, made him very stubborn which helped him a lot in dealing with Derek and Theo – and Peter; it made dealing with werewolves in general easier. But this time, he doesn’t take it too well. “You’ve hurt a member of my pack.” Stiles crosses the distance quickly. Dain stiffens visibly but doesn’t move. “For that, you will suffer the consequences.”

Something slams against him, specifically his head – and it feels a lot like magic. For a second, Stiles staggers. Whatever Dain sent his way, its claws are trying to get into his mind. But being possessed by a nogitsune has strengthened him. He has kept the nogitsune out long enough that it had decided to force Stiles to give in by the threat of hurting an innocent. It was a terrifying experience, one that left so many scars – seen and unseen – that he forgets sometimes what lessons he learned from it.

The most important one, his mind is his own.

“Get out of my head.”

Dain is pushed back, not only mentally but also physically. He stumbles, eyes-wide and panicked.

“The knife, I want it.” Stiles curls his fingers around the blade. A touch that stings. But before he has to rip it out of Dain’s hand, he lets go of it. “There, that’s it.”

“We just want the kitsune,” Dain hisses raising both hands, empty now.

A snarl disrupts the following silence. Isaac has stepped forward, claws out and fingers curled. His sudden protectiveness of Kira comes as a surprise, since they barely had the time to get to know each other. Then again, he shouldn’t underestimate the connection of a pack; and Isaac who only just gets to know how it is to have a family, who has clung to a pack and left it with a broken heart. He’d kill to keep it; he’d kill because he wants a place he belongs desperately enough.

“I told you-“

“Oh yes, you did, Theodore.” Dain steps away from Stiles, a low effort for a safe distance. “But maybe you should’ve told your pack the truth as well.” Stiles freezes. The barriers he built around his mind come crashing down – and Dain notices it, of course he does, and he doesn’t even try to hide his utter amusement. “You trusted him, didn’t you? You let him _in_. Oh boy, I can’t imagine the pain you will feel once he tells you everything.”

“Theo?” Lydia’s voice is high, alarmed. There is a certain sound to it, the edge of something just about to take over. “What is he talking about?”

As Stiles and Theo lock eyes over Kira’s head, he knows. There is no denying it. It’s like Donovan. The simple undeniable knowledge that the situation he is in now originates from something Theo has done. “It wasn’t a coincidence that you and they appeared a day apart, was it?” A part of him wants Theo to deny it and for it to be true. But the chimera lowers his gaze, admits defeat. Stiles wants to scream. But he doesn’t. He locks the sound away just underneath his chin; in the same place where he hides all the other sounds that want to escape but would give out too many weaknesses, too many raw emotions. “Why?”

Both Lydia and Kira step away from Theo. For about a heartbeat, it seems as if Kira wishes she could simply put him back where he’d crawled out from. Instead of doing so, she turns on her heels and returns to Liam and Isaac, pulling Lydia after her. The guilt radiating off of the banshee is dizzying. She feels responsible for letting it get this far; after all, she has been the one who told Stiles to give him a chance.

“Do you really think he’s changed?” Dain asks and his voice is a whisper laced with disgusting amusement. “That Hell made him a better person?” There is a chuckle at his ear. Stiles knows he should put his attention back to Dain but he can’t look away from Theo, who pulls his knees in, his shoulders up and his head down. As if it would change _anything_ that he shrinks into himself. “He came back looking for power. Also, looking for you. But that goes hand in hand, doesn’t it? So, we made a deal.” It’s like his blood turns to ice at those words. _A deal_. Theo has been working with them all along. “He was supposed to wake you up, train you, protect you – all for becoming an alpha.”

Stiles isn’t going to crumble. He isn’t going to break down just because Theo screwed him over again. He’s stronger than that. He survived Derek leaving. He survived leaving Scott. He’s alive after so many have died.

“What do you think happened at the pool?”

“It was a fluke,” Stiles spits, “As was the attack on Deaton, wasn’t it?”

“You really do figure everything out. Mother would have like you.” Stiles tenses. Dain chuckles. “Both means to an end. One to bring you back to Beacon Hills, the other to show you an option to control your powers.” There is a pause, another chuckle. “Although I thought you’d be a harder nut to crack.”

Stiles tightens his grip on the knife, blade cutting deep into his skin.

“Sadly, Theo turned on us.” Dain doesn’t sound all that broken up about it. “Connecting with you, hiding that kitsune from us?” He tsks. “Not part of the deal. But that doesn’t matter anymore now, does it? You brought her right to me.”

 _Brought her_? They never hid Kira. They didn’t need to. With Lydia as a banshee and Stiles somehow feeling an echo when something is about to happen to his pack, they have enough time to react, enough time to protect her. “And you really think, I’d give her to you?” Stiles turns slowly, focusing his attention back to Dain. Theo is someone he will deal with later. He has other priorities.

“How exactly are you going to stop me?” He’s a self-assured bastard, someone who thinks he is smarter than everyone else. Truth is, he isn’t.

“You’ll fall.” Stiles smiles, slightly cocking his head to the right. “They’ll always fall.”

“You can’t kill me.” Oh, he’s heard those words before. Laced with a lot more ferocity and arrogance, true, but he’s heard them before. And the desire for pain? The way he thinks he causes strife so well? His hatred for kitsunes up to a point where he and his brothers want to get rid of them? This is not only for Stiles’ protection. They would never put the wrath of the kitsune community on themselves for a teenager who doesn’t know what to do.

Stiles has been so blind.

“Theo doesn’t know when to quit,” Stiles says, “Something you seem to have in common. I mean, really? You should have left as soon as I got that little knife of yours. Instead you couldn’t resist to create strife, could you?” He grabs Dain’s wrist and, sure enough, what he feels underneath his fingertips is foul power. A chaotic swirl of madness, glee and viciousness. It’s almost like manic laughter. “Dub, Dother and Dain.” Stiles pushes him to his knees facing his pack. “Darkness, evil and violence.” Dain doesn’t move, even as Stiles lets go of him. “On this earth to create chaos, strife and pain.”

“He’s a nogitsune,” Lydia realizes.

“We are the _first_ ,” Dain hisses, “We _are_ the real nogitsunes not some bastard spirits.”

“And yet here you kneel in front of a teenager.” Peter chuckles but he remembers; Stiles can see it in his eyes. Nogitsunes aren’t forces to play with.

“None of you have any idea about the true extend of his power. This isn’t even a fraction of it.”

Liam’s eyes flicker up, uncertainty lingering in them. But only a moment later, his features harden again. “He’ll make do.”

Dain laughs, hands pressed against the dirty stone floor. “Do you say that because he is your alpha or because you know?” As no other response than a low growl follows, Dain laughs again. “All that blind faith. You have no idea what storm is coming your way. It’s going to be your downfall.”

“You’re even more of a drama queen than him,” Lydia comments nodding in Peter’s direction. Most people probably wouldn’t have noticed the slight quiver in her voice, an edge of worry that this might be true. They’ve reached their limits with the Dread Doctors, barely survived La Bête – how do they know they can handle whatever elemental force a void is? If they create and control an allegedly uncontrollable nogitsune, what else are they capable of?

“This arrogance,” Dain spits out, “You need us.”

Stiles scoffs. “We’re good, thanks.”

“It will get worse, Stiles, once you’re free of the nemeton.” His knuckles turn white as he tries to rise against the force he is hold down with. “Your pack might ground you but they cannot control you. You need someone who can.”

“And alpha?” Kira asks.

“Not just any alpha.” Dain says through gritted teeth. He doesn’t want to talk but he cannot stop – and with that gives away any leverage they might have had over them. “One who can and will do what’s right when you lose it; and you’re already halfway there, aren’t you? All those violent outbursts, the thoughts-“ He laughs again, a strangled sound.

“Do you never shut up?” Isaac asks.

“None of your pathetic bunch could ever do what’s necessary. They could never prevent what you did to your mother.”

The air shifts again. The hold on Dain weakens. It’s like a stutter, as if his mind cannot pronounce the task.

Lydia stiffens suddenly. Stiles knows why, not only because he has seen her sense death often enough. He knows her expression, the silent gasp escaping her barely parted lips, her eyes filled with terror. The scream locked in her chest, weighing down her heart. And while he can see all that, Stiles senses the echo of a sharp pain in his side; the echo of complete and utter emptiness.

“You remember what you did, didn’t you?” Dain’s voice cuts through the hold Stiles has on him. “She knew what you are and she wanted to get rid of it.” _He is killing me_. “But your void was too strong.” _You don’t see the way he looks at me_. “It took her mind before she succeeded.”

“Lydia, do something!” Peter yells.

“You killed your mother.”

The knife slips out of his fingers, falls to the floor. The sound is a painful ringing in his ears.

“What? What can I do?”

“And now Kira will die because of you.”

Something rushes past him, a blur of dark colours.

“For God’s sake,” Peter hollers, “You’re a banshee. _Scream_!”


	12. Throne of Glass

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No idea what happened. But here the chapter is again... after it vanished? WTF.

“Mischief.”

Stiles groans.

“You have to wake up.”

He blinks. That _voice_.

“You’ll be late, sleepyhead.”

Stiles shields his eyes from the harsh light. What the hell happened? The splitting headache doesn’t help as he tries to find his bearings. But there is a hand brushing over his forehead, pushing his short fringe away. “I like your hair this way.” There is a quiet chuckle, sweet and caring. “I always thought the buzzcut made you look like a soldier.”

“Mom?” Stiles sits up abruptly.

His world spins and tips, pain rushing through his head – worse enough that he feels like throwing up. But then, as everything slowly comes back, she is right in front of him. There she is, surrounded by white light. Or maybe it’s the sun against the white tiles of the hospital room she had died in. Although the last time he had visited her here seems like forever ago, he recalls even the small crack near the floor by the window. Then again, he had spent a lot of his childhood in here.

“Are you real?”

“I’m not a hallucination, Mischief.” She smiles at him, gently cupping his cheek.

“How?” His heart isn’t going to make it through all this ache. He misses her so bad, he misses her more than he realized.

“You have a very powerful friend.”

 _Lydia_. Right. She screamed. That’s the last thing he remembers before he woke up here. But – what? Why? Why is he here? And where the fuck even is here? Nothing makes a lick of sense. He doesn’t ask any of those questions; because all of them are of no importance compared to what comes crashing down on him. “I killed you.” His voice breaks, cracks and crumbles. “I _killed_ you.”

His mother narrows her eyes. Angry wouldn’t even begin to describe her expression right now. “Who said that?”

“Dain,” he sobs, unable to stop the tears, “He-“

“He is a nogitsune, Stiles. And you, out of all people, should know their humour. It was losing, so it preyed on your weakness.” She cups his cheek again and Stiles grabs her hand clinging to her like she is the only thing keeping him afloat. “While he was right about me knowing what you are, you’re _not_ accountable for my death.”

“But-“

“A void is dormant until needed by its pack,” she says, “You do remember the moment you woke up, don’t you?”

Stiles frowns. Remembering when he woke up? How the fuck should he know the precise moment when he- “The pool.” It’s a sudden realization. How could he miss the obvious signs? His mother smiles at him. “Derek was drowning and Scott hung up on me.” His body had been weary already. He knew he couldn’t keep both of them afloat for longer. But somehow, he did; somehow, he had. “But… it’s not like it is now.”

“For one, the awakening is a slow process. Yours has been interrupted by your sacrifice to the nemeton,” she explains the way she always does, calm and uncomplaining. “For another, you’ve always had an alpha to protect the pack. This isn’t the case now. You took the role of an alpha. That’s why your void is trying to surpass itself.”

“It’s scary.”

His mother runs her fingers through his hair. “New things are always scary.”

“Most new things don’t create monsters or ruin a whole country when they’re angry.”

She scoffs, a sound Stiles can’t remember to have ever heard from her. Perhaps it is because she is a very gentle person; that’s what made her illness even worse. It had turned her into a horrible person from time to time, a person who had been delusional enough that she believed her own son would attempting to kill her. “Everyone always tells the bad part of our story.”

 _Our story_.

Stiles likes the sound of that. A person like his mother could have never been a vile creature.

“Have you ever heard how _void_ was created?” She crinkles her nose at the name.

Stiles shakes his head.

“There was a time where foxes and wolves got along for the most part. Of course, there have been rivalries but nothing severe. We were only emissaries back then, serving both sides.” She sighs, and Stiles’ heart drops. He could’ve had this conversation with her being alive. She has always told him fascinating stories; stories Stiles never forgot. She could have told him through a story. It would’ve been their little secret, their thing and she-

Stiles goes rigid. “Frankenstein.” His mother used to tell him kid-friendly stories about that mythos all the time.

“Exactly.” She nods, her lips pulled in a tight line. “The first void fell in love with a werewolf. The family didn’t approve. It was against the rules. A werewolf wasn’t supposed to love a human, much less an emissary. His mother took pity on them and offered to turn her.”

“She didn’t survive.”

“No, and the kitsunes were offended by their actions. She has been born powerless with only one parent being a kitsune. They were blaming the wolves, took the body of their dead daughter and tried to resurrect her. There is no information on how they succeeded. Rumour has it, that black magic was involved.” _Black magic_. He remembers the darach’s tainted magic, and what it did to her. “Her inactivated spark exploded, emptied and sucked the power from everything around her. Her family died, only a few of the kitsunes survived. The wolves managed to get her under control because the bite had taken a belated effect.”

“That’s why I can be alpha,” Stiles concludes, “Because there is part werewolf in us?”

His mother inclines his head. “Correct. But there is also part fox. Her mother had been a kitsune. Although her powers never activated, it was in her DNA.”

“I thought you can’t be both.”

“But we’re nothing, really.” She smiles at him, fingers brushing through his hair again. “Our spark is. We’re a trick of nature, everything and nothing.”

“A trickster.” Stiles nods. “That’s why the rules of nature don’t apply to us. We shouldn’t even exist.”

For a moment, he could’ve sworn a tear glitters in his mother’s eye. But he blinks and it is gone. “You’re going to be good at this.” She cups both his cheeks and kisses his forehead. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Mom.” This is goodbye. He can feel it.

“Tell your father I love him,” she says. Her touch is fading, her voice is so quiet all of the sudden, “And that I want him to be happy again.”

Stiles grabs her hands, but he touches his own face. “ _Mom_.”

“I love you, Mischief.”

 

He comes to more slowly than he thought he would. But then again, he hasn’t really considered he needed to wake up. The world takes its time before it forms and shapes. It does, eventually – and he spots Lydia bending over him, eyes wide, lips pressed into a thin line. Then he spots Isaac and Liam and Kira, all three of them a little further away but equally worried.

“ _Stiles_!” Lydia grabs his hands, “Oh my God. I thought I killed you!”

Stiles shakes his head to clear the fog. Slowly, he sits up back and shoulders aching. Liam and Lydia help him but as soon as he sits, Lydia throws her arms around. She seems almost hysterical. Something he can’t remember to have seen on her in this extend; not after Allison died, not after someone tried to kill her.

“Calm down,” he says while Liam steadies both of them with a hand on his back. Otherwise, he would’ve probably fallen back down. “I’m okay. I’m _fine_.”

Isaac crouches down in front of him. “You were dead.”

“ _What_?”

Kira shudders at the words. “No pulse, no breathing. You were almost gone a whole minute.”  

“I’ll go tell Peter.” Liam jumps to his feet and jogs out of the room.

It’s then that Stiles notices people are missing. Peter, for one, but also Theo. As careful as possible, Stiles frees himself from Lydia. Kira tries her best in comforting her then. Honestly, Stiles has never wanted to see Lydia like this again – like she has been on the day Allison died. But here she is, broken and crying.

Isaac helps him to his feet carefully, maybe with more extra aid than strictly necessary. Still, he’s not going to complain. His world is still spinning and he feels a little like throwing up would be a great option. “Melissa is on her way.” And don’t get him started in his goddamn head.

“Call her off-” Stiles closes his eyes. “Tell her I’m fine.” Or she’ll call his father – and his father won’t take it well if something happened to him.

“Your heart stopped beating, Stiles,” Isaac reminds him, “She’s the only one who _knows_.”

He is probably right but Stiles’ mind is reeling. His mother has just thrown a lot of information at him. And, apparently, he was dead for a little bit – or at least his heart wasn’t beating and he wasn’t breathing. It would explain how he was able to speak to his mother. The banshee’s scream and the link they share seemed to have helped Void to make a connection to his mother’s ghost. Honestly, after what she told him, Stiles is beyond asking _how_ everything works.

“Where’s Theo?”

Isaac nods to their left. There is a pool of blood on the floor. “Kira bandaged the wound,” Isaac explains, “And kick-started his spark.” So his wound wouldn’t heal because his spark was out of power. Or he stops keeping himself from healing. It happened before. It happened to Scott, to Peter. But that would imply that Theo actually knows the concept of guilt. As for now, Stiles goes with what Isaac said. His spark needs to refill, then he’ll be fine again. “Peter took him outside.”

Which is probably the safest for everyone. Stiles doesn’t know how he’ll react once he sees him again.

“What about him?” Ever so slowly, his knees seem to carry him again. Something that can’t be said about Dain. He lies on the floor, face down and unmoving. His arm is bent at an odd angle, almost like a staircase. It’s disgusting and doesn’t particularly help Stiles’ nausea.

Isaac scoffs. “Lydia’s scream knocked the wind out of him. I used the chance to pump him full of kanima venom.”

Stiles can’t help but bark out a laugh. “I knew why gave it to you.” He notices the smirk curling around Isaac’s lips, corner of his mouth slightly turned upwards. But it doesn’t last long. Stiles knows why. “Kira? Can you take Lydia outside, please?” She has seen enough death for one day. They do not need to add one, not even that of a nogitsune.

“Stiles-“

“I’ll be with you in a minute,” Stiles promises offering Lydia a smile. She responds with one of her own, but there is fear haunting her eyes.

Isaac keeps a hand on his arm as Stiles gets to his knees. “How do we kill him?” He crouches beside him now, arms crossed over his thighs. Like Lydia, he worries Stiles might collapse again. He can sense it in the way he looks at him, how he keeps close enough that his body is something Stiles could lean on without it being so obvious – and while he is appreciating the offer, Stiles doesn’t take it. He is an alpha, right? Showing strength is part of the job description, no matter how bad he feels.  

For a moment, Stiles waits for a response from Dain, a mockingly stated ‘You can’t kill me’. But he stays quiet. Maybe, he is still passed out. His broken arm doesn’t seem to be healing either. He’s isn’t even breathing. Maybe he’s already dead. Theo had killed one of his brothers in Palo Alto; it seems that their spark might be able to bring them back to life after a while – much like a werewolf’s spark can heal them. As a nogitsune made out of flesh and blood, their sparks have to be far superior. Stiles reaches for the knife still clutched in Dain’s hand. “They can’t come back to life, if their spark is empty, right?” That’s what it is, isn’t it? A supernatural creature has to have a working spark. If not, it’s dead. Or is it only human then and needs to be killed afterwards? Is it just the nogitsunes’ macabre humour or did the kitsunes have to be killed, too?

“Do you want me to-?”

“No! No... I just-“ Stiles closes his eyes for a second. This isn’t like Donovan. This isn’t an innocent who was manipulated. This is someone who won’t stop until they are dead. This is _something_ who won’t stop until _it_ is dead. They had to kill the other nogitsune as well. There is no other way. “Turn him around, I want to- his heart.” Stiles gestures quickly. Like this, they can be sure it really is dead after the spark has been emptied.

Isaac grabs Dain by the shoulders and turns him around. “You sure?”

Stiles nods feeling for the sternum. He knows how to find the heart, he knows very well how to stab someone – not only because Lydia is about to become a forensic doctor and he works his way through criminology. His curiosity has helped him gather the weirdest kind of information. Obviously, it’s coming in handy during the insanity that is their life. The last thing he had thought, as he had gone on one of his research binges with fourteen, was that he might need to know any of it. But here he is kneeling over Dain, fingers curled around the handle.

He loosens and tightens his grip, shifts the knife. But whatever he does, it doesn’t feel right. After all, he has grown up as the son of man dedicated to the law. Stabbing someone, something is bad enough. Stabbing someone or something who isn’t even conscious just feels vile.

But he is the alpha.

He has to protect his pack.

“Stiles, you don’t have to-“

He shoves the blade in just underneath the sternum, tilting it slightly upwards in the direction of the left shoulder. Stiles tries not to think about what he is doing and instead presses his free hand down on the pulse point. Isaac sticks to his side, never leaving – and his presence is calming enough. Ever so slowly, the manic laughter becomes a chuckle, becomes a whisper, becomes nothing. A numbness settles over Stiles. It’s not the first death he’s witnessed over time – it’s not even the first one he has caused. There were Donovan and Josh, although he hasn’t killed Josh himself. Still, Theo killed the Chimera _because_ of him. It doesn’t necessarily get easier but the shock isn’t quite as deep anymore.

“We need to get rid of the body,” Stiles mutters. He needs to think practical now, calm and collected.

Isaac straightens offering Stiles a hand. “I’ll do that.” He pulls Stiles to his feet too. “You need to get checked.”

They go to the entrance in silence. Stiles clutches the knife like a lifeline. Isaac guides him with a hand on his back. He killed Dain, and that’s a good thing to have done. It’s _okay_. Everyone will tell him. A nogitsune doesn’t stop any other way – and yet, Dain didn’t necessarily act like a nogitsune. He wasn’t a dark fox spirit. In fact, Dain was like Isaac, like Scott, like Kira. At one point in time, Carman had turned her sons into nogitsunes for some fucking reason. Maybe someone had made her, maybe she had already lost it at that point in time. Maybe, maybe, _maybe._

 _Mother would’ve liked you_.

He would’ve killed her too.

“Stiles!”

As expected, Melissa didn’t come alone. The knife clatters on the floor as his father hugs him so tight, Stiles worries his ribs might crack. “Dad, I’m okay.” He hugs him back anyways, not squeezing but almost so his father knows he isn’t talking bullshit. “Just a little nauseous.” _And I talked to mom, by the way._ But that’s something for another time in another place.

“Jordan, you need to help me with something.” Isaac points back to the tunnels. “Liam, you too.”

“Help with what?” John lets go of him slowly, a hand on Stiles’ shoulder and neck.

Stiles squirms. “I killed the nogitsune.”

“You get checked by Melissa,” John announces pointing at Stiles, “We are going to deal with the problem.”

“But-”

“Liam, get your ass over here!” Isaac doesn’t even wait for a reply, instead he follows Jordan and John back into the tunnels. With a frustrated groan, Liam does the same.

Stiles glances at Lydia, who seems far more composed now, and Kira, who sends a tired smile in his direction. They both stand in front of Kira’s father’s car, obviously hoping to get out of here as quick as possible. Close to them but alone stands Scott. He looks like he doesn’t belong. He also looks as if he wants nothing more than to run to Stiles and check for any kind of injuries. Right now, Stiles would probably let him. Melissa is gathering something from her car. Peter leans against the wall of the tunnels, watching him.

And then there is – “ _You_.”

Theo startles at the harsh tone. Instead of moving away, which would be a _very_ good idea right about now, he makes himself small again. Out of sight, out of mind. Maybe. Or perhaps Stiles could have his emotion under control at a later time. Because right now? Right now, he doesn’t have anything under control. His anger comes back with a punch to the gut. He’s all but running toward the chimera, anger pushing him like a tidal wave and his instincts set on revenge.

Not even Theo’s bent posture, the paleness of his face and the hand pressed to his side could ease the desire to _punish_ him in whatever form crosses his mind first.

But he doesn’t even make it out of the tunnel. Peter grabs him around the waist. He is lifted up like he weighs nothing and pulled back like a bad behaved dog. Of course, Stiles struggles. Of course, Peter doesn’t bother much. No matter how much he bitches and fights, he doesn’t get away from him. Peter keeps him in a firm grip. Stiles can feel it tighten at one point – and maybe he _could_ get away if he fought hard enough; but he’s too weak to keep up the fight. And he would have to start to get momentum every time he is lifted of the ground, which seems to be something Peter really likes to do.

Stiles doesn’t know how he should feel about this blatant demonstration of the extend with which he is overpowering him.

“You, leave.” Peter points at Theo for nothing more than a heartbeat. “Let him cool down.”

“I-“ Even Theo’s voice doesn’t betray how weak he is. 

“Leave, _Theodore_ ,” Peter repeats, “I will talk to your alpha.”

Maybe it is the reminder of their statuses that gets some sense into Theo. Maybe it’s the idea of Stiles cooling down and the possibility of another chance that beats some sense into that thick skull of his. With a slight bow of his head, which is directed as Stiles, he steps away backwards – then, after he reached what he must consider a safe distance, Theo turns on his heels and leaves. He’s not running, like Stiles expected him to. But he doesn’t walk slowly either. It’s an odd mixture, almost as if he wants to get away and something is holding him back at the same time.

“What the _fuck_?” Stiles spins around and pushes Peter away from him.

“I will never not be impressed by how you’ve managed to remain alive.” Peter shakes his head in disbelief. “Your survival instincts are horrific.”

“He-“

“Went on a suicide mission saving Kira’s life,” he reminds him sharply. “If Kira hadn’t chosen to kick-start his spark he would have bled out at our feet.”

“So, _what_?”

“Don’t act all high and mighty. You’re not untouchable.”

“I don’t _care_ about-“

“Now you sound like my nephew.” Peter grabs him by the upper arm. “We’re going to have a long and in depth talk about what defines an alpha.”

 

“Nice cave.”

Peter rolls his eyes. “Sit.”

Stiles follows the instruction. It doesn’t necessarily feel like an honour to be sitting at the dining table in Peter’s fancy apartment about to eat an equally fancy incredibly late lunch while getting a lecture on how to be an alpha when Peter has been the crappiest they’ve met so far. Then again, there has also been Theo and Deucalion. Let’s say Peter is in the top three. They all had their very own flaws – and Scott should get a list all for his lonesome.

“I don’t eat meat.”

“Fish?”

“No.”

“You can have the fried rice then,” Peter says pushing a white box in his direction, “Vegetables only.”

Stiles doesn’t respond to what sounds like mocking. Instead he watches Peter rummaging around the kitchen, internally laughing hysterically at the situation. This is something he would have _never_ imagined. Not only that Peter actually bought them food and agreed to train his powers, now they are sitting at a table like civilized and more or less sophisticated adults – with Peter actually trying to tell him how to be a good alpha. This has got to be a fucking joke.

“The path you’ve chosen for yourself is a slippery slope.” Stiles doesn’t know what’s funnier, that fact that _oh-so_ cultivated Peter used the term ‘slippery slope’ or that he implies he has chosen the wrong path. “I get it, you are just trying to protect your pack.” Peter grabs two bottles of beer, stops and inspects the labels. He glances at Stiles before closing the refrigerator again. “But if you only listen to your instincts instead of reason, you will hate yourself soon.”

Stiles takes the offered bottle. “How come?”

“Now everything’s theoretical to you. What _would_ you do if something happens to your pack?” There is a beat, a pause that makes Stiles inch a little closer to the table. “But that quickly becomes ‘what _will_ you do if something happens to your pack’?” Another pause. Stiles curls his fingers tightly around the bottle of beer. “Do you ever want to look in the mirror and ask yourself ‘what have I _done_ ’?”

Stiles taps a finger against the bottle, nail hitting the glass. The sound is almost deafening in the following silence. What he says makes a whole lot of sense. But Stiles needs to take his statement with a grain of salt. It’s Peter he is talking to, that’s something he mustn’t forget. “Don’t get me wrong,” Stiles says looking up at him with a raised brow, “But you don’t seem like good teacher material when it comes down to being alpha.”

Peter raises a brow himself. “People tend to forget that my sister was one of the greatest alphas in history.”

“Probably because they met you during your ‘ _phase’_.”

Peter snorts. “I made a few mistakes.” He opens the box with the sushi. _Huh._   Some people obviously considered biting teenagers and murdering part of your family as mistakes. Cute, really. Stiles would suggest a lifelong therapy. But that’s only his opinion.

“You don’t look all that broken up about it.”

“Regret is for those who have time to feel bad.”

“ _Right_.” Stiles doesn’t really get what the hell he is trying to say. “You think regretting is a waste of time but want to stop me from doing something I _might_ regret?” Peter draws his brows in the way Derek did as a teenager; like he thinks Stiles is a complete moron. _God_ , he hates Hales with a fiery passion. It’s not even funny anymore.

Sighing theatrically, Peter breaks two sets of chopsticks – thinking about how much he paid for the sushi alone, he should have gotten two sets with his name engraved in real silver. “You’re sitting on a throne of glass. You don’t have time to think about doubting yourself.”

“Alright-“ Stiles snatches the chopsticks out of Peter’s hand- “Teach me how to wield the force.”

“First, my grammar is flawless,” Peter remarks indignantly – and Stiles freezes. _Really_? Out of all people, the creepy uncle understands the references he makes? What is wrong with the world? “Second, if you don’t take this serious, we can end this conversation. I offered my help-“ Peter basically dragged his ass over to his place- “Take it or leave it.”

Stiles scrutinises his face. “What do you want?”

“Believe it or not, I don’t want anything.” His first instinct would be to distrust Peter, if not for the fact that he sounded more genuine than Stiles has ever heard him before – and he’s got a good feel for lies now. “After everything that happened, you’re like family. Distant family, granted, but family.”

Stiles cannot help but point out the obvious. “You killed your family.”

“I was in a bad head space.”

“Silly me,” Stiles deadpans, “Ripping apart ones niece is the go to reaction after wh-“

“I’ve changed, Stiles,” Peter snaps patience short of snapping, “Don’t think what I did doesn’t haunt me anymore.” Again, his words are so honest Stiles can feel the pain behind them in his bones. “Derek and Cora forgave me.” He stops, inclines his head. “At least to some extent.”

“He never trusted you again.”

“True, but he was smart enough to ask for my help.” Peter points the chopsticks at Stiles. “ _You_ react like Scott, only with more violence.”

“What?”

Looking back on it, this is an insult Stiles cannot live with. Derek hadn’t been the best alpha to ever alpha – but he at least knew what he did, more or less. Actually, none of the alphas he’s gotten to know over time have been particularly amazing at their job. Maybe he should ask for an audience by Satomi.

Peter rolls his eyes. “Don’t tell me you wanted to solve the issue with Theo like civilised people.”

“I wanted to break his nose,” he says; because lying is kind of pointless.

“And push him out of your pack?”

Stiles pushes the box away from him. “Maybe.” He shrugs. The thought crossed his mind. But would he have done it? “I don’t know.”

Peter sighs. This time, he doesn’t sound exasperated. It’s almost, as if he is relieved Stiles stopped being a pig headed infantile. “Trusting your instincts is one thing. That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t listen to reason.” He pokes a sushi roll. “I think that one is with cucumber. Do you want it?”

Stiles stares at him for the longest moment. For all the times he has thought Peter is simply weird, he never realized how _right_ he was. Hesitantly, he takes the sushi roll in question. To get more time for a reply, he chews slowly watching Peter. He seems genuine, and Stiles really doesn’t believe he is lying to him. He hasn’t thought Theo lied to him either. See what where that got him and the pack.

“What do you think I should do?”

“Think,” Peter replies like that’s the obvious answer, “Be rational. Does Theo deserve to be exiled?”

“He lied to us.”

“Yes. Admittedly, that’s a stupid idea. But nobody got hurt in the end.”

Stiles scowls. “He worked with nogitsunes who wanted to kill Kira.”

“And yet he jumped in the crossfire-“ Peter raises a hand as Stiles opens his mouth for an interruption- “If Kira hadn’t chosen to save him, he would’ve died. Theo was aware of that.” Stiles presses his lips into a tight line. “As he made the decision, he was human. And yet he didn’t hesitate.”

He remembers the empty echo inside him, hollowed out – as if a part was simply missing, ripped away. Is that how it feels like when your spark is without power?

“What if it’s just another trick?”

“Theo could’ve hardly known you’d help him.” Peter sorts through the sushi rolls with remarkable patience. “Chances stood against him after the truth was out in the open.”

Stiles runs his fingers through his hair. “Why then?”

Peter stops in his movements. The open curiosity he regards this statement with quickly turns to amusement. Stiles narrows his eyes as he continues to sort the sushi instead of answering. Funny, considering that he’s done something similar just a few seconds ago. That’s probably why he should start to listen to reason instead of his instincts. He can’t be angry about things he’s doing himself – so he can’t be angry at something Scott has done if he were to react the same way. Pushing Theo away isn’t an option unless he forgives Scott for doing it to him – no matter their history. He can’t have double standards. He _cannot_.

To put it together; did he trust Theo? Yes, _yes_ , he did trust him as far as his own life goes.

Did he trust Theo no matter what? No, absolutely not. That’s why he kept him close, that’s why he hates himself for giving in.

Did he expect Theo to make mistakes? Yes.

Did he expect Theo to betray them again? And there’s the rub. He did. Right as it happened, Stiles was so sure. He’d said it straight to Theo’s face, had accused him of working with the brothers – and then he forgot. He _forgot_. How could he forget?

“You really don’t know,” Peter realizes in astonishment.

Stiles startles shaking off his thoughts. “I wouldn’t ask if I did.”

“I might not have emotional diarrhoea but even I’m not that dense.” Peter drops his chopsticks, probably internally laughing his ass off. At least he can mostly conceal it – just his eyes shine in this very aggravating kind of way. It makes Stiles want to shove a branch of mistletoe down his throat; but again _violence_. He is not usually violent by nature – all bark, no bite – but since his void woke up, his violent tendencies have amplified by a thousand. It’s seriously frustrating. 

He barely resists to throw his own chopsticks at Peter’s face. Okay, he needs to have anti-stress and anti-anger therapies. Aren’t people going for boxing or something? To get rid of all the extra energy?

“Are you going to keep grinning at me or are you going to tell me what the _hell_ you are talking about?”

Peter chuckles.

Stiles clenches his teeth.

“Your anger is highly amusing.” _Of course_ , it is. “You’re smart. Figure it out.”

“This isn’t funny.”

“Oh, Stiles, you have no idea _how_ funny it is.”

 

Stiles doesn’t say anything as he spots Lydia sitting on his bed. She is quiet too, watching him as he undresses – carelessly throwing his shirt in one corner, kicking of his shoes and jeans. He doesn’t know how he feels or _what_ he feels as he pulls a shirt over his head and wiggles into his sweatpants. Maybe it’s better this way. He doesn’t want to know anything about feelings, especially not his own. Not right now.

Still quiet, he opens his dresser and gets another shirt. Without looking, he offers it to Lydia. She takes it, not as hesitantly as he thought she would, and scrambles into bed while she undresses. Funny, how at one point in time he would’ve completely freaked out by the mere thought that Lydia Martin sleeps in his bed in one of his shirts and with only one blanket they can share. As it is, he doesn’t even have the inclination to watch her change. He doesn’t react as she turns out the light and doesn’t say anything as she slips underneath the blanket and moves until they’re aligned.

She presses her mouth to his fabric-clad shoulder, the exact spot where Donovan’s bite taints his skin and hugs him from behind, arms reassuringly tight around his chest and a hand over his heart.

“How did it go?” Her voice is quiet, almost as if she doesn’t want to disturb him in case he’s already sleeping.

Stiles doesn’t answer immediately. He’s still mulling over everything Peter has said. Some of it was actually helpful, other things didn’t make any sense at the time being – but they might help him in the near future. Probably during a time when he needs it; wouldn’t be that surprising at all. “We ate,” Stiles replies eventually, “He talked.” He sighs. “Peter sure likes to talk _a lot_.”

Lydia chuckles, something he rather feels than hears. “Was it at least helpful?”

Stiles hums. “He mentioned Theo.”

“Did he?”

“Yeah.” Stiles shuffles around until he faces her. It’s only their hands now that separate them. “He says, he knows why Theo screwed over the brothers in the end.”

Lydia is quiet for a while, contemplating his words maybe. He cannot read her expression properly in the weak light of the moon. Half of her face is hidden by shadows. She seems thoughtful but there is something else there, something he can’t quite figure out – and that’s what bothers him.

“You slept with him?”

“No,” Stiles replies slowly, “We didn’t get to that point.”

“Oh.” A silence filled with uncertainty follows. Perhaps Lydia doesn’t know what to think about his actions either. “Who started it?”

What exactly? Their fooling around or this weird thing that’s going on between them? “I did-“ Stiles presses his eyes close- “But Theo kissed me first.” As if that would make his words better. It was he who made _it_ far messier than it should be.

“Why?”

“I needed to stop thinking.”

Lydia is quiet again. It almost seems as if she wants to say something, something huge. But she doesn’t. Instead she presses her lips in a thin line and breathes in like that makes her words go away. “What are you going to do about him?”

 _Good question_. “I won’t make that decision alone.”

“You’re going to be a good alpha.”

Hopefully, she is as right about that as she is about everything else.


	13. Beautiful Broken Things

Theo is sitting on the desk chair while Stiles, Isaac and Lydia sit on the bed. Mason, Liam and Kira have found their place on the floor of Stiles’ bedroom. It’s still early in the morning. Stiles hasn’t slept more than two hours – if he’s lucky – and he didn’t bother to get dressed. Lydia did; she is showered and dressed but still without makeup and she put her hair in a high bun again. None of them look like they are in the mood to talk this out. Everyone is exhausted but grim, yesterday’s events still deeply rooted in their bones. This is an important but gloomy situation – and honestly, Stiles wants to skedaddle and leave the rest of them to deal with it.

He’s fucking biased. He can’t be a fair alpha on his own, that’s the main reason he wanted his pack to be with him for this disaster. Peter said to him he must listen to reason, that only going for whatever his instinct says won’t be good – and he’s right; Stiles never thought he would admit that to himself or anybody else. Still, that’s how it is.

But how is he supposed to start this? What should he say?

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t rip your throat out.”

Not that, obviously. “ _Isaac_.”

“He saved me!”

“Could’ve been a calculating move.”

“Not even he is _that_ stupid.”

When his pack can’t come to an agreement, Stiles has no fucking clue how they are supposed to solve this problem. Fact is, Isaac and Liam wouldn’t hesitate to execute any form of punishment while Lydia and Kira try to point out that Theo turned on the brothers in the end and even risked his own life to save Kira’s. Mason is acting as the calming influence in the midst of this heated discussion. It’s chaotic, arguments flying left and right. They are talking over each other, only Lydia has her own speaking time.

Stiles can feel Theo looking at him, other than that he is quiet. He doesn’t defend himself or react in any kind of way to what Isaac said. Under different circumstances, he wouldn’t have hesitated to respond in an equally aggressive manner. Now, he tries his best to be as unobtrusive as possible. Yes, Theo knows exactly how to act to get what he wants – that’s what makes him so dangerous and Stiles so irresolute in what to do with him.

“Quiet,” Stiles mutters massaging his temples. There is a headache coming, brutal and unrelenting. He needs quiet and darkness and sleep. His bickering pack doesn’t help him at all – especially since Liam and Isaac’s anger clash with Kira’s concern and Lydia and Mason’s forced calm. It doesn’t mix well; or maybe it does. This discussion feels like someone dumped a Molotov cocktail in his skull during a rave festival.

“ _Shut up_!”

The following silence is a holiday on a secluded island. For the most part, he ignores his pack and tries to focus on Theo alone.  Because that guy is the only one who can solve this shit. But then Isaac grabs his wrist and pulls his hand away from his temple, unexpectedly gentle und careful; like Stiles’ hand is made out of porcelain. Derek has been the only one to make him feel stronger than he is. Derek and now Theo. But the gentleness captures his attention, even more as Isaac takes his pain. A feeling Stiles will never get used to. It seems so intrusive, intimate. The distraction doesn’t help the situation, and it hardly solves their problem. If anything, it overcomplicates everything more than necessary.

Theo goes rigid where he sits, shoulders a tense line. He hasn’t liked Isaac from the beginning and what he overheard in the woods not too long ago didn’t help to change his opinion. Stiles doubts this would pave the way for a nonviolent approach; especially after Isaac opened this discussion as aggressively as he had. He knows he just wants to help. But this is far from doing so.

Careful but persistent, Stiles frees his hand.

Lydia glances from Theo to Stiles at that movement, her look as uncomfortable as fingernails on a blackboard.

“So-“ Stiles closes his eyes for a moment, trying to calm himself down enough to keep a clear head- “You were working with them.”

It’s not a question but Theo nods either way. His posture isn’t necessarily relaxed but a little slacker again, less tense and aggravated.

 _I would never risk your life to prove myself to you_. That’s what Theo said as he confronted him with his suspicion. It is the simple undeniable truth – and it threw Stiles under the bus because he struggled to come to terms with just how much he trusted Theo really. It is now that he realizes that this statement has never been an answer to his question. Because back then, Stiles accused Theo of convincing someone to attack Stiles so he could look glorious and heroic. But that attack wasn’t about Theo. It was about Stiles going back to Beacon Hills. Theo wasn’t lying, he just chose a more convenient answer to keep himself from doing exactly that and, like he anticipated most likely, Stiles dropped the topic.

“ _Why_?”

“They were looking for a young void in California because word got around that a nogitsune possessed a human.” Theo runs a hand through his hair, dishevelling it further. The muscles in his upper arm move. It distracts Stiles for a second – and he hates himself for it. “They don’t usually do that, especially not if they can have something with more power. Then there was the story of how you created a new body for yourself.” About how _he_ created a new body for himself? Stiles always thought the nogitsune- but why was it so terrified then? He felt its terror. He _knew_ about it. But as so often before, Stiles chose to ignore the truth when it punched him in the face. “I knew it was you because of what the Dread Doctors said. That’s why I made a deal.”

“Before or after you knew they kill kitsunes?” Liam hisses.

“ _After_!” Theo insists. “I swear I didn’t know at the time.”

“When did you find out?” Kira sounds more curious than accusing. But it isn’t really in her nature to show aggression anyway, so that doesn’t say anything about how she really feels.

“No sooner than you did,” Theo replies scratching the back of his neck. “I never heard about the oni either.” True. Stiles remembers the expression on his face as he heard them for the first time. No matter how good you are at manipulating, nobody could fake distress that well.

“Sucks only knowing half the truth, doesn’t it?” Isaac scowls at him.

Theo bares his teeth.

“Stop it,” Stiles hisses. “Both of you!” They are worse than a bunch of puppies. How the fuck is he supposed to deal with them without a rod for punishment? It’s probably easier to beat sense into them than to do it via talking. “What do you know?” Stiles asks exasperated. He’s not good with stuff like this. Scott could talk himself black in the face. Stiles is the type of guy who needs to act.

Theo licks his lips. “I know that they’re terrified of the kitsunes hunting them. It’s a couple, descendants of those who died to the first void. They are older than Kira’s mother.”

Explains why their oni are powerful enough to walk around by daylight, although the sun wasn’t shining when they attacked Liam, it was still untypical behaviour. The last oni they’ve fought, vanished at the smallest hint of sunlight – even the one who was supposed to be the strongest. If he remembers correctly, a kitsune gets her tails every hundred years. Taking Noshiko’s age into consideration, her oldest tail had to be nine hundred years old. How old does a tail have to be to make an oni strong enough to be walking around in a building with windows during a cloudy day?

“I know as well that none of the brothers are any kind of threat to you, Stiles. If you are prepared, at least.” There is a pregnant pause. “But they won’t listen to reason. Even less after you killed Dain.”

“Is that why you changed your mind?” Stiles asks. “Because you realized you’re on the losing side?”

“No.”

“You sure?” Mason says gesturing towards Stiles. “Sounds pretty convenient.”

“What you would have noticed, if you had been present at the time it happened,” Theo spits, “is that I chose to help as Stiles was losing.” It’s the truth. Stiles _was_ losing as Theo decided to take action and did what he couldn’t do; _save Kira_. What kind of alpha is he that he can’t even- _you’re sitting on a throne of glass. You don’t have time to think about doubting yourself_. He’s got to keep a clear head. He is the alpha – he is the alpha for a reason; not because of power, not because of strength. He is alpha because the pack trusts him.

Stiles closes his eyes; his headache is getting more and more prominent – it feels like something shifts into place in his head. “Mason’s right.”

Theo scoffs. “Why do you interrogate me, when you don’t believe a word I say?” _Why saving me when you couldn’t care less in the end_?

“Because of what you told me,” Stiles replies, “the night you almost killed Scott.” He remembers. He remembers every little word of what Theo said. “Liam, Kira, Lydia and I. Isaac is a good replacement for Malia; especially with him being related to a hellhound.” Theo wants a pack. He’s gotten a better one than what he’d bargained for – a more stable one. He didn’t even need to get rid of a member he doesn’t like. Scott had taken care of that. But Theo wouldn’t be alpha. Unless Stiles makes him. Saving his life, his pack – ultimately, Stiles would’ve build enough trust in Theo to at least consider him for the role of an alpha. Maybe his manipulation would’ve reached far enough that he might have given it to him.

“I don’t want to be alpha.” There is an urgency behind Theo’s words, perhaps to persuade him of the truth behind his words. Perhaps not. It’s so hard to differentiate between what’s true and what isn’t. “I don’t care about power anymore.”

“Because you have it with us,” Liam concludes.

Theo curls his lips. “No.” His tone is sharp now. “If I cared about power, I wouldn’t have gone against Dain when he was about to _win_.” That makes sense as well.

“What made you change your mind?” Lydia asks.

“Not what,” Theo replies and his tone shifts again. He is less aggravated talking to her. But it is still far from friendly. “Who. The question is, _who_ made me change my mind?” His eyes meet Stiles’ for a moment, then he looks at Lydia again. “But _you_ already know the answer to that, don’t you?” He sounds condescending, almost as if her intelligence reproaches him.

“Yes, I do.”

“How about you enlighten all of us?” Isaac is clearly annoyed by the secrecy between the two of them. Stiles wouldn’t need to sense his anger to notice it.

Stiles raises a hand. “Do you trust his words?” The question is directed at Lydia. Despite her basically making him take Theo in, he still trusts her more than himself. Especially now; and she wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.

Lydia nods. “Yes, I do,” She repeats just as firm.

“Since you saved Kira,” Stiles says ignoring whatever Isaac wanted to remark, “and with that made yourself a target, I will give you another chance.” Theo breathes out audibly, relieve flooding the tense atmosphere in the room. “Suicidal behaviour will only so often be your saving grace.” Theo nods, still making himself small with his shoulders pulled up high. “But there will be punishment. You are aware of that, aren’t you?”

“I am.”

“Good.” Stiles gets up from the bed. Liam scoots a little to the side to let him pass. Kira smiles up at him. At least she seems okay with the decision. Maybe he can convince Isaac and Liam as well, he doesn’t want to have a strained relationship with them because he decided this way and not that. “You’re not to leave the house. If you do, you’re going to be an omega faster than you can say carbonite.”

Theo opens his mouth, then rolls his eyes. Eventually, he nods. “That’s all?”

“I don’t think so.” Stiles grabs the quill he decided to keep on the nightstand. The atmosphere shifts again, relaxed becomes nervous, anger becomes contentment. He’s making the right decision. This is right. “I’ve gotten the idea after a very interesting talk yesterday.” Although he wants to look at his pack for support, Stiles keeps his eyes trained on Theo. He can’t show weakness, not now. He is the alpha. His decision counts. “Until we have dealt with the brothers, your spark will stay empty.”

“No.” Theo gets to his feet.

“Sit _down_.”

“You can’t do that.”

“I can and I _will_.” Stiles moves towards Theo again. “Now sit down.”

Even if unwillingly, Theo follows the instructions.

 

“Taking away his power?” Lydia frowns at him. After Stiles drew the rune on Theo, one that would keep his power locked and inaccessible inside him, they went for a coffee downtown. Liam and Mason decided to finally catch up on their bro time, Isaac wanted to talk to Jordan about something or other and Kira’s father ordered her home for lunch since they are out later this afternoon. Since Stiles’ dad is working and Lydia doesn’t seem keen on leaving him alone for even the smallest of moments, they decided to go out for a bit.

Stiles takes both coffees with a smile directed at the terribly stressed barista. She smiles back, obviously glad someone didn’t snap at her for taking a little longer. Poor girl. “It hit him harder than pushing him out of the pack could ever have.” And pushing him out of the pack might have lead to his death. And _Scott_. He doesn’t want to be like Scott.

“Why?” Lydia points at a table in the back of the café. The only empty one. Although it’s a sunny Sunday, the café was exceptionally crammed inside and out. Small groups of teenagers, young couples, families – so many people. They talk about utterly random things; things Stiles hasn’t even thought about in a long time. Their emotions are mostly settled, some are giddy, others are happy – but most are just laid back. It’s helpful because it doesn’t mess with his head, at least not too much.

Stiles doesn’t answer until they’ve both sat down. “Theo suffers from an inferiority complex. Well, at least everything points towards it.”

“His desire to be strong.” Lydia nods tapping a finger on the lid of her coffee cup. “Low self-esteem, extreme aggressiveness, mood changes.”

“Yeah. Also, nothing scares him more than being a failure or ordinary.” Stiles sighs, closing his eyes for a second. His headache isn’t as strong as it seemed to become earlier in the morning. It’s still bothering him. “Or being weaker than real werewolves. It’s why he doesn’t like Isaac.”

“But he wanted to have Liam in his pack,” Lydia remarks. “Why would he dislike Isaac but not Liam?”

That’s a question Stiles hasn’t given much thought to, yet. But he still has an answer, or an idea at the very least. “Liam was needed to get Scott’s powers. He wasn’t part of the end game.” As Lydia opens her mouth, Stiles raises his hand. “As for now, Theo said it himself. Liam wasn’t Liam for him. He was ‘the beta with anger issues’. But Theo doesn’t know Isaac well enough. For him, Isaac is what he wants to be; a real werewolf chosen by a real alpha to be in his real pack. Theo was chosen, too, but Liam was an accident. In the end, Theo chose a pack of broken people to feel better about himself. He pointed out everyone’s flaws.” Lydia frowns but follows his thinking attentively. “Malia whose first instinct is to kill, you being surrounded by death, Kira as the _dark_ kitsune. I as a void. He doesn’t know if Isaac has any flaws. That’s why he’s a threat to him.”

Lydia shakes her head. “But void isn’t a flaw for him. Theo accepted you as his alpha without a second of hesitation. It doesn’t line up with his inferiority complex.” She stops and presses her lips together. Again, Stiles gets the feeling she tries to keep some words from spilling out. “It’s different with you. _He_ is different with you.”

Stiles sucks his bottom lip between his teeth. Something about the way Lydia says it bugs him. But he cannot quite explain what it is. It’s almost like she tries to draw his attention to something without saying it out loud. “I basically told him he was better than everyone else.” Lydia raises a brow. “In the woods, when he was hiding. It was the only thing I could think about to get him back.”

“That doesn’t explain why he’s been like that since the day he first came back,” Lydia adds for consideration. “He’s never acted superior to you. He tried to make you feel good about Donovan, he told you about his plan, he helped you save me- it’s more like he wanted you as an equal not a beta.”

“Which doesn’t make any sense-“

“But it _does_ ,” Lydia interrupts. “From the very beginning you have made him feel important; important enough to be talked about, strong enough to be a threat.”

“No, Lydia, listen- there is a reason we always end up with a werewolf pack. We can be controlled. _Alphas_ can control us.” he explains. “The first void has been created on accident. She was a human born to her kitsune mother and her human father. She was bitten by a werewolf, which she didn’t survive. They brought her back- and that broke her spark. Theo _could_ control me if he became alpha because there is part werewolf in me. Gathering my trust is only means to an end for him. _That_ ’s why he worked so hard to get to me.”

Lydia raises her hand. “Hold on a second,” She orders confusion contorting her expression. “A void is part kitsune _and_ part werewolf?”

“Yeah, created with black magic – possibly. No one knows exactly.”

“Two sets of DNA.”

“What?”

“You’re a chimera, Stiles.”

“Not me, my spark is.” Because voids are humans with a broken spark. That’s all there is to it. Like Lydia, he will never get supernatural healing or hearing. He can heal. He did. But maybe it was due to a healing rune or maybe because his subconscious really, _really_ wanted him to heal.

“The point is, _that_ ’s what the Dread Doctors tried to recreate. But although Theo survived, they never broke his spark.” And as that didn’t work, they went back to resurrect La Bête.

Stiles crosses his arms. “That’s enough reason for him to hate me. I am what he was supposed to become.” It’s a counter-argument to what she is trying to say.

“But he took what’s naturally stronger.” Lydia grabs his hands. “You said it yourself, if you were pack _and_ Theo were to be alpha he could control you.”

“He lied then, everything he does – it’s still about becoming alpha.” It shouldn’t hurt this much. Why does he even bother to _believe_ Theo after everything he has done? It’s worse enough that he managed to get to him when Stiles should have had his defences up in the first place.

Maybe his decision was wrong. Maybe he should have kicked him out- whether or not his decision would be the same as Scott’s. At least Theo isn’t his best friend since kindergarten. So, there’s that.

Lydia sighs and pulls her hands back. “Honest opinion?” She raises a brow. Stiles shrugs. He doesn’t even know why she asks. It’s not like she would keep quiet if he said no. “If Theo cared about everyone the same way he cares about you, he could be a good alpha.”

“ _What_?”

“You don’t see it because you are too busy keeping up your defences.” Lydia may be speaking quiet but she is absolutely annoyed with him – and her patience is running thin. “What makes a good alpha? What _defines_ an alpha? They are a leader, yes, but they are also top of the hierarchy. An alpha isn’t their pack’s friend, they are first and foremost their leader. Some can balance it better than others; you for example. Scott tried to be everyone’s friend and made haphazard decisions because of that. Theo wouldn’t. Ever since he came back, he is trying to train you, to make you feel good – he is protecting you. Even when you don’t trust him.”

 _I’m telling you because even if you don’t trust me and even if you don’t like me – I’m still going to be looking out for you_.

“His methods aren’t always the best but we already established that he’s damaged after being exposed to the Dread Doctors for years.” Lydia taps a nail against the wooden table, scratches at the chipped paint on its edge. Then she sighs and the annoyance vanishes into thin air. “After attacking Isaac and being pretty neutral towards everyone else, he suddenly switches to sacrificing his life for the person who is responsible for sending him to Hell.” She locks eyes with Stiles. “Why do you think that is?”

Stiles doesn’t say anything. Honestly, he doesn’t even know what the fuck he is _supposed_ to say to that. Apparently, Lydia and Peter know everything but neither seems to be interested in telling him or anybody else from his pack. He assumes it’s a sensitive topic, so much that he didn’t push it this morning. That doesn’t mean his patience isn’t running thin too. “How would I know?”

“For years, Theo grew up thinking the only way to prove himself was to be powerful.” Lydia pushes a strand of hair out of her face. “And then, you come along. First, you show him that he is worth enough to be considered dangerous by you.” He literally called Theo a piece of shit. How is that for contributing to his self esteem? “Second, you let him help although you made very clear that you didn’t trust him.” Stiles bites his bottom lip. “You freed him from Hell.” True, he did all that. _Still_. “You taught him that power comes from a working pack, not from being alpha alone.”

“You’re saying he broke with the brothers because of _me_.”

“Yes!” Lydia sounds almost excited at his statement. “He said he changed his mind because of a person, not for power.”

“He could’ve lied.”

“I don’t think he did. You said it yourself, he never lied to you. Why start now?” True. Theo never really lied to him. He was as honest as he needed to be and simply omitted certain information to make him stand in a better light. “And I don’t think Theo doesn’t like Isaac because of his being a werewolf, Stiles.”

_Humans might easily mistake a connection like that for something else._

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

_Do you know how that sounds? As if you’re jealous._

“You don’t think that Theo is acting a little possessive when it comes to you?”

 _I’m not jealous. I don’t like to share_.

“No.” But he does. It’s the only explanation why Theo sometimes reacts the way he does; completely over the top. Even the smallest mention of Derek freaks him out. As well as Isaac being too close does – and what did Corey say Theo told them after resurrecting them? _You belong to me_. He doesn’t understand the simple concept of a relationship. He sees what is his and he takes it.

_Finders keepers._

Lydia leans back in her chair. “Because you don’t see the way he is looking at you.”

“We are still talking about Theo.”

“A Theo who has _changed_ ,” Lydia insists. “You told me, he kissed you.”

Stiles tenses. Right. He kissed him. They kissed again. They fooled around – and Stiles liked it, yes. He felt terrifyingly good during. It was only after some time has passed that he began to regret how far they’ve gone, what they’ve done and what that means for Stiles.

“I need to get some fresh air.”

Lydia follows him outside, eyebrows drawn in. The coffee cup isn’t really something to hold onto but as Lydia wraps an arm around his waist, he feels a little more stable on his feet.

He can’t like Theo like that.

He cannot.

“I’m a moron.”

“At least you’re a fair moron,” Lydia replies as Stiles puts an arm around her shoulders with a sigh. “You could have just pushed him out of the pack.” She tightens her grip for a moment and smiles up at him.

Stiles scoffs. “And act like Scott, great.”

“Like Scott?” Lydia looks up at him in confusion. “How would that make you the same as Scott?”

Stiles sips on his coffee frowning towards the sky. It’s starting to become cloudy, thick clouds rolling over the sky towards them. The temperature has dropped a little as well – and that within the short span of time in which they have been inside. “Forcing him out of the pack instead of listening to him.” Stiles is glad they’ve dropped the emotional subject. He isn’t ready to think about something like that quite yet. “Doesn’t that remind you of something?”

Lydia narrows her eyes. “You can’t compare what Scott did to you to anything you could do to Theo, Stiles. Even if the end result is the same, your path is completely different.” She lets go of him, turning a corner. Stiles loops an arm around hers with a sigh. “He believed a stranger over his _brother_. You would act on facts.” Her voice is sharp, almost as if she is berating him. “I know you feel betrayed and yet you decided to give Theo a second chance.”

Whether that _is_ the right decision will have to be seen. It might have been a terrible decision. It might have been a decision on emotions he shouldn’t have in the first place. “I don’t-“ Lydia stops looking up at him with sympathy in her expression. “I’m a bigger idiot than I thought I am.”

Lydia chuckles. “You are so scared to do something wrong, that’s why you compare every action you want to take to something someone else did before you.” She shakes her head still smiling. “You can’t do that. Even if you had decided to push Theo away, you wouldn’t have done what Scott has. You wouldn’t have stabbed your brother in the back. You would have protected your pack.”

“Scott thought the same.”

“Because Scott is an asshole,” Lydia remarks suddenly incredibly angry. “I wouldn’t have doubted you.”

Stiles pulls her into a sudden embrace. That’s the only way he can tell her how much she means to him, how much he needs her right now. Her words are exactly what he needs to hear; not the insults, he couldn’t care less about the insults. What he needs is someone who stands by his side no matter what, who isn’t afraid to open his eyes and beat some sense into him if necessary – someone who stands beside him even if he starts to evolve feelings for a sociopath with an inferiority complex.

God, his father is going to shoot him.

 

“Why are we staying in front of Kira’s house?”

Lydia freezes. They have been talking about everything and nothing for the first time in a while, and Lydia has lead the way. She has been pretty persistent, turning left and right, moving forward. Stiles followed her, although increasingly puzzled by where she intended to go. Then she stopped walking, just like that. That’s how she usually finds-

“Oh no.”

Stiles turns on his heels and sprints towards the house.

“No, _Stiles_ , no!”

But he doesn’t listen. Shoulder first, he slams into the front door. It opens immediately. Stiles ignores the pain in his shoulder as well as the pain in his head. “Kira?” He screams. “Kira!” There is a sound from a little further back, a yelp maybe. Stiles doesn’t wait. Instead he runs at breakneck speed, rushing through the hallways and rooms. And then, on the floor of her bedroom, Kira struggles with one of the brothers. _Dub_. Pain lashes out as the information is given to him.

 _Fuck_.

For a the briefest of seconds, Stiles’ step stutters. But he catches his balance again and slams into Dub at full speed. He rips him off Kira, slamming to the ground beside her hard. The impact bounces through his body and bones. He is still coming up on top.

“Get out!”

He can’t get a hold of Dub. Every time he tries to dip into his powers, his headache worsens. Something is blocking his access, keeping a lid on the power he is able to wield. Stiles would bet a lot on the nemeton. It’s probably a last attempt at maintaining the balance, the supernatural rules that mustn’t be broken. It always gets worse before it gets better. Stiles has gotten used to it over time.

“Stiles, I-“

“Kira, _please_ ,” Stiles snaps. “Get out!”

She hesitates, just for a second, but that’s all Dub needs to throw him off. With a groan, he slams against the wall. Two seconds, that’s all he gives himself. Then he’s on his feet blindly grabbing for the bag on the floor. He sprints after them then tackles Dub again. Tightly, he wraps the strap around his neck. Squeezes. Stiles jumps on his back to have more leverage.

Dub tries to get free from what’s suffocating him. Stiles tightens his hold, even as he is slammed against a wall again and again. It’s the elbow in his stomach that finally forces him to let go. The bag skitters away. Dub hauls him to his feet and presses him against the wall. “You snotty brat,” He hisses hand tightening around Stiles’ throat. “We are _helping_ you and you have the _audacity_ to kill our brother. Without us, you are nothing but a baby with a crown.”

“I’m an alpha.” He grabs a vase. “I get shit done.” With as much strength as possible, Stiles aims for Dub’s head. He goes down with a groan. A wave of magic slams against him. Luckily, that’s still useless. Stiles kicks him in the stomach twice before Dub has the chance for a counter. He grabs his ankle and pulls. Stiles hits the edge of a chest of drawers. “I will beat you up until you can’t move,” Dub spats kneeling over him, “and then I will make you watch while I kill your kitsune and that mongrel that fucked us over. I will kill every single member of your pack.”

Stiles believes him. Every single word. But he doesn’t have time for stories. He grabs a shard of glass. Dub slams his hand back down. “Good idea.” He pulls out a knife. As Stiles punches him with his left hand, Dub brings the knife down. It misses its original target. The blade cuts through his skin and rune, hits his hip bone. Dub pulls it up, ripping through more skin. Before he can bury it in his side, Stiles is able to throw him off.

The knife clatters to the floor. He doesn’t have the time to cry out. Instead he fumbles for the knife. Dub is quicker – and while Stiles gets to his feet, he has already brought some distance between them. Adrenaline makes him faster; adrenaline and fear. Stiles jumps on the dining table while Dub is crossing the room, and throws himself against the nogitsune. Dub falls. Stiles barely manages to stay on his feet. He kicks the knife out of his hand, then brings his foot down. The sound of bone breaking is strangely satisfying. He repeats the motion a total of three times before he drops to his knees and snaps Dub’s neck. It gives him time to get the knife and end him once and for all.

Two down, one to go.

Stiles follows the droplets of blood that have fallen from the knife. But before he gets there, something steps out of the shadows. A second later, a banshee’s scream echoes through the house and his bones. His headache worsens to a point where he almost gets to his knees. But the scream is what helps him notice the katana – and that’s what saves his life. As the oni goes for an attack, Stiles grabs the blade with both hands. Ignoring the sharp pain in his palms, he tries to redirect the katana. He needs to get closer, maybe he can kill it. He _knows_ how to kill it. If he can access his void one more time, then maybe he has a chance to get out of here. But he barely hold his own. The blade cuts through the skin on his palms, now only inches away from his stomach.

Suddenly, something slams against the oni, hard enough that the katana is redirected and grazes his side, above from where Dub hurt him. The cut is still deep enough that Stiles can’t stop himself from crying out this time.

The next second, Theo grabs his wrist and yanks him after him.

“Did you just _tackle_ an oni?” Stiles asks free hand pressed to his side. A fruitless effort; the pressure only intensifies the pain in his hand.

Theo takes a sharp right. “Saved your life, didn’t it?” He calls over his shoulder.

But oni are never attacking alone. Two more appear out of the shadows in the living room. Theo turns on his heels. Stiles has his hands full with staying upright. But there is the front door. They can get out.

“Get the rune off me.”

“What?” Stiles asks puzzled. “No.”

“This is not the time to teach me a lesson, Stiles!”

And he is right. Two more oni are appearing in front of them, separating them from their way out. Stiles fumbles for the quill and yanks Theo’s collar down. His fingers shiver as he traces the rune backwards. But that’s to be excused; every fibre of his body hurts and four fucking oni are closing in on them. Then the rune is gone. Theo rushes the two oni in front without hesitation. Stiles is on his heels. With a snarl, Theo throws himself against the right one, creating enough space for Stiles to slip in-between them.

A katana misses him by inches.

Theo howls and Stiles skitters to a stop at that. But before he can turn around, there is an arm around his waist – a bloody arm; he’s hurt, Theo is hurt – and he is basically _hurled_ out of the door. The impact is hard, blood stains the driveway where he pushes himself off the ground. He’s got the terrible feeling that _someone_ didn’t follow him out of the house. He spins around. Theo stands in the doorway, blocking the way out – and winks.

He fucking winks.

“ _NO!”_

But the door slams shut a second before Stiles reaches it again. “ _Theo_!” He jiggles the doorknob, hits the solid wood. “Theo, open the _door_!” He rams his shoulder against it again, _wants_ it to open but his headache and his hurting body very adamantly tell him that he cannot do anything.

He is a creature everyone is scared of and still he can’t do nothing.

This suicidal bastard.

He needs to- he has to- the window. He can get back in through the window. Stone. Branch. Even a fucking decoration. Something that helps him break the window. Something that-

“Stiles!“ Kira and Lydia pull him away from the door. “Stiles, that’s too dangerous. Help is-“

“I don’t _care_!” Stiles snaps. Kira flinches back.

“You see, that’s the problem,” Lydia hisses grabbing his chin. “You don’t care about getting hurt. But you know how I’ll feel?” His breath catches in his throat. “I’ll be _devastated_!” Her voice trails off as the fight leaves Stiles’ body. After all these years, she still remembers the first time he told her how he really felt about her; the first time he thought that Lydia was more than a stupid High School crush. “And if you _die_ -“

“I’m not, I’m sorry.” Stiles doesn’t want to see the tears in her eyes again. The shock from yesterday is still too strong. “I’m okay.” But they need to  do something. The oni will kill everyone and everything in their wake to get to him.

Lydia breathes in deep, her fingers trembling.

Kira spins around suddenly. “ _Mom!”_

Stiles turns to the house again, as Theo cries out in pain. Instinctively, he steps towards it but Lydia and reason hold him back. He can’t do anything. He’s the alpha and yet he _can do nothing_ to help his pack.

Theo cries out a second time, then he is flung almost carelessly out of the window. He slams to the asphalt whimpering. Stiles surges forward. Both he and Lydia grab him by the shoulders and pull him away from the house. But the oni are following. Four of them, katanas raised and ready to strike down whoever blocks their way.

“This boy is under _my protection_.” Noshiko and Kira move in front of them. Stiles shivers at the older kitsune’s voice. She sounds more powerful than he could have imagined. “If you touch him, I will crush you.” Two katanas appear in front of Stiles’ face. They are crossed over, as if Kira and Noshiko are crossing Stiles _out_.

The oni stop but don’t vanish.

That’s progress.

“I will not repeat myself.” Noshiko says.

There is a rattling sound, then, one by one, the oni vanish into thin air.  

Theo groans but sits up, already healing. It’s then that Stiles realizes how tightly he is holding onto his shoulder – and he lets go, although that’s not where Theo has been hurt. In fact, there is a hole in the back and front of his shirt, bloody and dirty, that indicates what exactly happened inside the house after Stiles was locked out.

“That’s why you and Lydia asked me all those questions.” Noshiko turns around, taking in Stiles – bruised and battered and hopefully not looking like a threat that needs to be eliminated.

Kira grabs her wrist. “We didn’t know what you know. That’s why we didn’t tell you. Mom, please.”

Please, indeed.

Theo shifts a little, so that his left arm and shoulder are in front of Stiles. Not that it would help at all if Noshiko decided she wanted to murder his sorry ass.

“I did not grow up with the legend of the Void,” Noshiko remarks decidedly, “and I don’t see why I should feel threatened by someone who would sacrifice his life to save my daughter.” Stiles lets out a breath he hasn’t known he’s been holding. “I only wished you would’ve told me sooner. I could have helped you.”

“I’m sorry, Mom.”

“We’re sorry, Mrs. Yukimura,” Lydia and Stiles add in unison. Theo looks up at her critically; at least until Stiles hits him obtrusively.

“Yeah, sorry.”

Stiles rolls his eyes but Noshiko doesn’t seem to mind the rude behaviour. “I’d like you to tell me everything you know.” She examines Stiles’ face in a way that makes him very uncomfortable. “Could you do that while Ken is patching you up?”

“Yeah, of course.” Theo pulls him to his feet, and although Stiles has a bone to pick with him, he keeps quiet. “By the way, one more thing?” Kira and Lydia watch him expectantly. “Starting tomorrow, we’re so going to share a flat.”


	14. Bad Blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How graphic is graphic enough to make a rating explicit? I swear, I have no idea. But I decided; better to be safe than sorry, eh? Anyway, this chapter was almost driving me out of my mind. I swear, I rewrote the ending a bajillion times and I'm still... argh. This is a close as I could get to what I pictured.  
> I hope you'll like it. :3
> 
> And, I feel like this is a good time to say: THANK YOU. Thanks to everyone who comments, thanks to everyone who leaves kudos and thanks to everyone who just reads and lurks in a corner. ;) Lotsa love to all of you! <3

“This was the most awkward conversation I’ve had since that time I tried to convince my dad I was gay to keep the supernatural a secret.”

Stiles kicks off his shoes upon entering the loft. Isaac and he had the same idea almost at the same time. They both still own a key to Derek’s old apartment and through countless conversation the two of them had had with him, they know that this will always be a safe haven for those who need it. Right now, they need it – only the living situation is even worse than during the time Derek had lived here. They have a kitchenette, a couple of mattresses they sleep on and a table for research, homework and eating. With two rooms upstairs, Lydia and Kira, as well as Liam and Mason have a space to themselves. Stiles and with that Theo – because neither would that annoying chimera leave him alone nor would Stiles want to have him somewhere he couldn’t monitor his every step – sleep in the main room behind the broken wall.

The alarm system is still working, and that’s what matters really.

Isaac stays with Jordan for multiple reasons. The most important one is that the brothers are moving in with Stiles’ dad for the time being. Because after what Dub said, he doesn’t want to risk anything. Also, Stiles and Isaac decided that it’s probably not the best idea to strain the situation between Theo and him. Stiles isn’t a big fan of it, but he understands. It’ll be stressful enough for the six of them to live together, especially under these circumstances – Stiles and Theo have bad blood already, Isaac and he constantly clashing wouldn’t help anybody.

“The second he opened the door, Mr. Dunbar asked Liam if I’m the reason he broke up with Hayden.” Stiles closes the door with a sigh.

“Liam broke up with Hayden?” Lydia asks astonished.

“Apparently. So, yeah- first Mr. Dunbar thought Liam wants to come out to him. Then he was convinced we are high and then he seemed pretty sure somebody drugged _him_.” He turns around, rolling his shoulders. “But I think he’s pulling through.” Almost immediately, his gaze lands on the two unwelcome guests. Scott and Malia stand in the middle of the room, shoulder to shoulder. Where Scott looks like he is feeling bad about everything, Malia only seems determined to do whatever the hell they’ve come here to do. “Maybe we should line the perimeter with mountain ash.”

Someone snorts out a laugh in the back of the room. Stiles briefly looks in said direction. Theo sits cross-legged on the floor, back against the edge of the hole in the wall. He is still wearing that stupid shirt with the V-neck – so that everyone can see the rune blocking his power. After Ken had patched him up, Stiles drew it on him again. Theo was pissed, now it seems as if he is mocking his decision, _flaunting_ that Stiles' first idea of a punishment is to lock away his powers, to make him weak. Only more proof of Theo’s state of mind.

“Stiles-“ Scott begins.

“By the way,” Stiles continues as if nobody said a word, “you are going to pick up Mason and Liam after school.” He snatches an apple slice from the plate in front of Lydia. She is almost quick enough to slap his hand away. “I’m done parenting for today.” Driving the jailbait part of his pack to and from school, as well as helping them tell their parents about the supernatural world – he remembers how catastrophic his own talk with his father had been – wasn’t in the job description. He is too young to be a dad.

“You’re the alpha, sweetheart,” Lydia sings smirking at him.

Isaac sniggers.

Assholes, both of them.

“Besides-“ Isaac turns on his chair to look at Stiles- “Lydia and I are supposed to get the research on the training, remember?” _The training._ Not Scott’s kind of training. They all know how to control their powers. That’s not important to him right now. Stiles wants them to be able to _wield_ their powers to their full potential. Peter telling Lydia to scream has gotten him that idea. She is powerful enough to make Stiles’ void connect with dead people. That way he could talk to his mother and break the hold Dain had on him.  But they don’t always have a Peter to tell them to scream. Also, they’ve learned that a banshee can use their voice as a weapon – a weapon strong enough to shatter a skull. Kira has already grasped the concept on how to wield her power, even though the Dread Doctors strengthened them to an unknown extend. Derek had done a good job at teaching Isaac. Stiles doubts there is anything he needs to do. Theo is trained as well. It’s all about Liam, Lydia and Stiles himself.

Stiles glares at him. “You are unsurprisingly unhelpful.”

“ _Beta_.” Isaac croons.

Stiles flips him the bird. _Jackass_.

“Stiles!”

Right. “What?” He turns to focus on Scott and Malia.

“Oh, _him_ you’re talking to?” Theo asks piqued.

Stiles rolls his eyes. Granted, the middle school approach isn’t the idea he is proudest of but he has to punish Theo _somehow_. He mocks the punishment of his power being taken away – because he knows he’ll get it back when shit hits the fan – but Stiles blatantly ignoring him drives the chimera up the wall. So yes, middle school approach it is. He just wonders how long Theo lets Stiles get away with it or how long Stiles can actually handle ignoring omnipresent Theo after all. He is successful for a little over 38 hours now, from which they have effectively seen each other eight, so there’s that. The majority of yesterday Stiles had to spend with his father and Jordan while the rest of the pack did the move. He is still banned from carrying anything that weighs more than a bottle of water. Mason carried his backpack. It was humiliating.

Also, not talking to Theo gives him the advantage of not confronting his feelings – or Theo’s. So, it’s a win-win situation, really. Because who needs emotions? Stiles for sure doesn’t. He’s peachy. If Stiles has perfected something, it would be the art of ignoring a problem until it goes away. Perhaps he’s lucky and Theo does too. It would certainly make a lot of things easier for everyone involved.

Okay, no. Actually, it would only make things easier for him.

“We need to talk,” Scott insists.

Stiles squints at him. “You do know this isn’t the best time for that?”

“I thought I _lost_ you!” Scott exclaims suddenly throwing his calm out the window.

“Bummer.”

“Do you have any idea-“

“You know, we wouldn’t have had a bajillion problems in the first place if you hadn’t been such a do-gooder and believed me for once,” Stiles deadpans.

As Scott struggles for something to say, Stiles bites into the apple slice he stole. Lydia and Isaac are whispering over something that isn’t related to what’s going on between Scott, Stiles and whatever Malia’s deal is. Maybe she is supposed to make Stiles feel guilty? They have never really broken up, have they? _And_ Scott told him she still loves him; whatever love means in her world. She has still been struggling with humanity during their relationship. Stiles _knows_ he is her anchor, and it must be hard to stay in control by all this anger she is surrounded with and how alienated they are right now. But she was the one pulling away first. Perhaps because Stiles has never fully let her in the way she wanted to. He’s felt more like a friend and guidance counsellor to her while she was seeing him as her mate, as her saviour – her everything. It felt always normal but never _right_. He wouldn’t say he hasn’t cared about her but on a list of people mattering to him, she wouldn’t exactly have one of the higher priorities.

And right now, he is more annoyed by her than anything else. 

“You’re just going to throw us away?”

 _Here we go_.  “As per usual, I’m at fault.” There is so much going on right now, Stiles doesn’t have the time to be angry and distracted at the accusation.

“All you do is pushing me away!”

“Oh really?” Stiles snaps – the ignorance ignites a spark of anger in him, although he tries so hard not to be fazed by this. “I’m not the one trusting a stranger over my brother. Just saying.”

“I couldn’t have-“

“- _known_?” Stiles clenches his fist, nails digging into his bandaged palm. Stiles can feel the thin layer of scab split open under the pressure. Isaac whips his head around as the first drop of blood hits the bandage. Scott looks instantly guilty. Malia scowls. “Funny how you believed someone I distrusted from the very beginning just because he shed some crocodile tears. But it’s good to know you think I’m capable of cold blooded murder. Always nice to learn something new, keeps the relationship exciting.”

“You know how he can be.”

“It’s not even about Theo. He just tipped the scale.” Stiles ignores Theo’s scoff. The guy probably thinks he has been more important in _ScottandStiles’_ big breakup but truth be told, if there hadn’t already been rifts in their friendship, Theo wouldn’t have had a chance. But while Stiles was holding on, trying so hard to ignore what was so plain in front of him, Scott believed every single word Theo chirped in his ear – although Stiles told him not to. “You didn’t even notice I wasn’t in your pack up to the moment you howled in my head, did you?” And maybe it wasn’t even Scott’s howl that brought him back. Perhaps it was his howl that made him notice someone was there. Because Scott wasn’t alone in his head. Lydia was there, too.

And he was  _so lost_ after the nogitsune had vanished.

Maybe he has never been Scott’s pack.

Scott looks like Stiles just tore his heart out. “What?”

Malia glances between the two of them in slight puzzlement. She doesn’t know. She doesn’t even have a clue what’s really going on between them, and neither does Scott as it seems. “Holy shit.” Stiles shakes his head feeling the slightest bit of hysteria creeping up his back. “I can’t believe I sucked up to you _every time_ I was right.”

“Do you hear yourself?” Scott asks. There is still no anger in his voice, only disappointment. “It’s like I don’t know you anymore.”

“Don’t pretend you’ve _ever_ known me.” Scott is stunned into silence at that, unable to defend himself or throw something back at him – and that’s when Stiles’ patience runs out. Maybe he is a little harsh on him. But, god forbid, he has it up to _here_ with playing nice while everything is going to shit around him. “You kissed the girl I had a crush on since third grade, you chose Allison as an anchor – a girl you haven’t even _known_ for that long and as she broke up with you, you didn’t even consider your best friend to become your anchor? Do I need to spell out whose anchor I’ve been? Aside from Malia’s?”

“Derek’s,” Malia answers instead of Scott. “He’s been Derek’s anchor.” She sounds as if that’s basic knowledge everyone has learned at one point in time, like the multiplication tables. Scott looks rather astonished at this particular information.

Theo scoffs. Obviously, that’s his favourite sound today.

Stiles isn’t that surprised.  “Have you ever wondered _why_ I didn’t tell you about Donovan?”

Scott opens his mouth and Stiles is seriously interested in what he is about to say. But nothing comes out of it. Scott doesn’t have an answer; a silence that says more than he might think.

“Because I know you would’ve blamed me either way. Even if you’d known from the very beginning, you wouldn’t have looked at me the same.” Stiles runs a hand through his hair, suddenly exhausted. He just wants them both gone. “Scott McCall doesn’t kill people, even when it would be the right thing to do.” Yeah, Stiles still blames him for Deucalion, he blames him for Gerard – and for all the mercy he has shown them after what they did. If anyone deserved to die or go to Hell or whatever, it would be them. Yet, when it comes down to Stiles, when Stiles makes a mistake – that’s unforgivable. Scott’s treated the boy he’s grown up with, the boy who was a brother to him, like any other villain they’ve encountered. “I’m done with restraining myself for you.” He’s done with bending over backwards just so Scott is happy with him. He’s done with feeling guilty for what the nogitsune had used his body for. “I will do what’s necessary to protect my pack and the people I care about. I will bleed for them. I will get my hands dirty for them. I will teach them how to be _their best_ and not how to be harmless.”

“You sound like Theo,” Malia concludes. Because _she_ can assess other people now, apparently.

“This isn’t you.” Scott looks at him as if he is seeing a stranger.

Stiles smiles. “I’m me. Just without your leash around my neck.”  

“We're kind of on a tight schedule,” Lydia comments drawing a pattern on the wooden table. “We don’t know how long Noshiko’s threat will keep the oni away.”

“True that,” Isaac agrees.

Stiles casts a quick glance over his shoulder. “You heard her.”

“Stiles, come on. That’s not you.” Scott’s voice rings with disappointment.

“Okay.” Stiles raises his hands in defeat. This discussion will be going on forever if he doesn’t point out something vital. “Okay, Pontius, you think you can wash your hands of it – of ever doing something wrong? When you go to bed at night, do you sleep well? Because I wouldn’t if I were you, Scott. I wouldn’t feel good after using people – and I’m not talking about Derek here. That’s old news. I’m talking about Hayden.” Scott widens his eyes. Yes, he knows what Stiles is about to say. “How righteous was it to use her as bait? How did it feel to sign her death sentence _seconds_ after you told me we don’t kill people, after you promised Liam to do everything in your power to keep her safe?”

The following silence is soul crushing. Scott stares at Stiles, hurt and disappointed – as if it’s his fucking fault that he was disappointing Liam and killing an innocent. “She’s alive.” Scott says eventually.

“Not thanks to you.” Stiles raises a brow. “You still killed her.”

“I didn’t.”

“Because she’s alive? By that logic, Theo didn’t kill you either.” Another heavy silence. Another revelation Scott might not be happy about. But Stiles couldn’t care less. Scott needs to see that he isn’t fucking perfect; he isn’t some goddamn miracle worker or messiah. His mistakes don’t vaporize. Fun fact: this talk isn’t even about exonerating Theo. Yet, it’s so ironic that both go hand in hand. “We’re done here. Go.” Because Scott wouldn’t accept this truth. Scott wouldn’t accept that he has done something Theo did as well. Maybe Theo actively killed and Scott just stood on the sidelines as Hayden died. But his passiveness killed her just like Theo’s claws have killed him.

“I won’t leave,” Malia announces – and before Stiles can reply or do anything, she grabs his hand. Pain shoots up his arm. But she doesn’t seem to notice that it is her grip that is hurting him. Stiles frees his hand, or tries to. She is still terrible with social cues. Because although she lets go of his hand, she wraps her fingers around his wrist. It takes only but a second to realize what she intends to do; and he’s still too slow to react. She pulls him in and their lips meet before Stiles can move away.

The wrongness of it all needs a second to register; the shape doesn’t fit, the lips are too full and something about the way she presses their mouths together is simply false. Too much force, too little finesse – an animal trying to demonstrate affection. But who is he to judge? He doesn’t have too much experience with kissing people either. Lydia’s haphazard reaction to his panic attack could hardly count as a kiss. That reduces his kisses to Heather, Caitlin, Malia and Theo.

Theo.

Stiles pushes Malia away.

“Has nobody told you to stay away from things that aren’t yours?” Theo crosses the room. Although he currently has his powers locked away, he looks like he is about to rip her throat out with nothing but his human strength. There is something about him that makes Stiles anxious. He isn’t necessarily terrified but saying he isn’t at least worried about the expression Theo is wearing right now would be lying. There is something dangerous about the way he cocks his head for a brief second, all predator, and his fingers curled although there are no claws.

Stiles can feel Theo push against the rune, pulling and tugging. His head reacts with a relentless pain at that. But he can’t blame Theo. For one, he doesn’t know. For another, it’s natural reaction, most likely, to dip into his power, to shift and go for an attack. His unpredictable temper will get him into trouble – especially without being able to access it. It _would_ deserve him right to feel the ramification of an unnecessary temper tantrum. It would also be very bad since he cannot defend himself and Malia isn’t known for showing mercy.

Question: teach him a lesson or stop him before he’s doing something utterly idiotic?

To Stiles’ surprise – and fortune – Isaac gets in Theo’ way. He presses a hand to his chest, covering the bottom half of the rune reminiscent of an infinity symbol. “Don’t risk it.” It’s a hiss. A warning but also protection. For once, Stiles hopes Theo doesn’t react haphazardly.

“She’s getting on my _nerves_ ,” Theo spits but he lets himself be pushed back. He doesn’t even glare at Isaac’s intervention.  

Stiles realizes Malia still has a tight grip around his wrist. He tries to free himself but she tightens her hold on him. No matter how much animal she might be or how much trouble she has with being human, she understands chemo signals better than any of the other werewolves. Stiles doesn’t even want to think about what exactly Theo’s might be telling her right now. But she narrows her eyes and snarls at him. She knows. Or at least, she’s got a hunch – and that’s almost just as bad because he doesn’t need her flaunting this knowledge. Then again, maybe she thinks its one-sided. Maybe she thinks Stiles would _never_ react to his advances in any kind of way.

Stiles wonders what she might do if she knew.

“Nobody wants you here, Malia,” Theo jeers, “Stiles certainly doesn’t _love_ you.”

Now is not the time to find out. “I want you to leave _now_. You’re-“

“You wouldn’t know that,” Malia interrupts him aggressively.

“Oh, _I_ know,” Theo says it in a way that doesn’t give any rise to doubts. He _knows_. He knows very well that Stiles’ current interest lays on somebody else – but if he lets even the smallest of hints slip, Stiles will mummify his sorry ass and throw him in the stream he _found_ his sister in.

Scott steps forward. “Someone like _you_ wouldn’t know anything about emotions.”

“Stiles said, you should leave,” Lydia remarks sharply.

“Oh, Scotty, you’re wrong.” Theo smirks ignoring the warning glance Isaac casts his way. “Just like that time you said they wouldn’t come around. How the tables have turned.”

Malia moves beside Stiles. Then she lets go of him with a growl. In a matter of seconds, she has Theo pinned to the ground – it’s not undeserved, really, someone needed to give him shit for his cocky behaviour eventually – but his void isn’t particularly happy with the situation. His headache worsens painfully as instincts set in to protect his pack. There is nothing he can do, though, with the nemeton- with the nemeton being _most likely_ the one blocking the connection to a point that only droplets of power can seep through; just enough to keep the runes on his own and on Theo’s body up and running.

Isaac notices his struggle. He intervenes again, gripping Malia by the collar of her shirt to rip her away from the chimera. Something in his posture signals that he accepted Theo as pack, too. It’s the way he not only pushes her away but also steps in-between; so that she would have to go through him in order to reach Theo a second time.

Stiles doesn’t know if he should be worried of relieved at that change.

Malia throws something at his feet as an answer. That something turns out to be an empty syringe.    

“What the _fuck_ -?” Isaac queries irritated.

“ _What_ did you do?” Stiles spins around, aggression pumping in his blood – pushing him has never been a good idea in the first place. But now? Now it is an even worse idea. He is already on edge, suffers from constant anxiety, almost as if a panic attack is just waiting for the perfect moment to hit. His pack is under threat. They’re currently working through the aftermath of being betrayed by someone they trusted. And now _that bitch_ thinks she can go around injecting shit into a member of his pack?

Theo growls.

“It’s just wolfsbane,” Malia replies easily.

“ _Just_ wolfsbane?” Lydia’s voice cuts through the air like a knife.

Still growling, Theo comes to his feet. He’s pushing against the rune again. Stiles can feel the pain in his head worsen as he tries to keep it filled with the required amount of magic. It’s hooking a finger around the rune on his neck as if it’s clawing on the shreds of power the sparks of his pack can give him right now.

“Bad timing,” Stiles announces. He rolls his shoulders and neck, as if to get rid of tense muscles. “Really? You couldn’t have fought him like a real wolf?”

Scott startles. A look of shock crosses over his features. “He is only a chimera. It might not even work on him,” He remarks then not realising what a grave mistake he’s just made. Of everything he could’ve said, out of all the words the English language has to offer, he just had to choose those, didn’t he?

“And yet he-“ Stiles steps in to prevent the worst from happening but he stops mid-sentence as fear pricks at his skin; fear and anxiety.

Theo straightens suddenly. “Did you hear that?” His voice is thick with panic.

“Hear what?” Lydia asks in a voice higher than usually.

“Shht.”

It’s so silent in the room that Stiles thinks he hears Theo’s rapidly beating heart. Or maybe it’s his own. A shiver runs down his spine. Instinctively, he steps closer to his pack. Isaac and Theo inch closer too – still ignoring that they don’t like each other’s company that much.

“Is that a voice?” Theo asks inclining his head.

Isaac frowns. “I don't-”

“ _Quiet_.”

Theo pales visibly. Every so often, his glance skips to Stiles. Then suddenly, the prick of fear changes into nails scratching down his back. Blank and utter panic. He shudders.

Theo lets out a distressed sound.

“What kind if wolfsbane was that?” Lydia demands to know.  

The door slides open by itself, almost soundlessly. Stiles whirls around to face it. Theo stumbles backwards with a strangled sound. Nobody else seems to react. Isaac frowns at him and Theo. Lydia glances between the two of them in confusion. What the hell is going on? What the- why is nobody else noticing anything? As the door stops finally, silence settles over them again. Nobody moves a muscle, nobody speaks.

Coldness seeps into the room.

Stiles shivers violently.

Then he hears it. Carried with the sound of a death rattle and bones crunching. It’s a whisper. A voice he heard before. A name distorted and wrong. A sound that seems to echo through the room, coming from every direction.

 _Theo_.

The stench of something rotten creeps into the loft. Stiles chokes on it, presses a hand to his nose to help keep it out. But he’s already tasting it on his tongue. Finding where Malia had lived wasn’t nearly as bad as this is. He’s lucky, that he doesn’t have any of those keen werewolf senses – but as Stiles glances at Isaac, he looks quizzically from Theo to him and back again.

“Don’t you smell that?”

Isaac inclines his head. “What?”

Something cackles.

Theo has gone even paler beside him. He’s rooted to the spot, unmoving. His hands are tight fists at his sides, knuckles white. Cold sweat appears at his hairline.

 _Theo_.

The voice is louder now. But it’s still coming from everywhere.

“What the fuck is wrong with the two of you?” Isaac asks.

Scott looks horrified. “It shouldn’t affect _you_.” He even sounds horrified. “Why does it affect you?”

“What?” Stiles presses out through clenched teeth. “What did you do?”

“The wolfsbane,” Scott hurries to explain, “It’s the one Lydia had used. The one we’ve all got hallucinations from.” The hallucinations of what they dreaded the most? The hallucination which showed Stiles his father hating him while Scott had been seeing Allison making out with Jackson? Stiles had envied him of that kind of fear back in the days. “Why does it affect _you_?”

“Because he’s connected to us.” Lydia snaps. “He feels every violent assault, too.”

Theo grabs Stiles’ wrist suddenly, pulling at him. He doesn’t appear to realize that this isn’t real. But even if someone told him – the wolfsbane makes everything feel too genuine. He wouldn’t believe them until it’s over. It’s like he is in his own world, a prisoner inside his own head. And Stiles just happened to stumble and fall into the rabbit hole.

He glances back at the door, and recoils. Theo's grip tightens painfully.

It’s a hand first, that comes out of the shadows. Skin unnaturally white and wrinkled. Clothes hang in racks from her arms and shoulders. Tangled streaks of black hair cover her face. But Stiles can see the grin anyway. Blue lips that give way for rotten teeth.

_Theo._

Two voices now, morphed into one. A sound that ripples through Stiles’ body.

It is inching closer, bones and joins crunching at the unnatural movements. Jerky and wrong, as if reality stutters around its body – an old VHS tape that doesn’t play properly.

“Stiles?” It’s not exactly encouraging when Isaac sounds close to hysterical because he can’t do shit. But his voice keeps him grounded. This is not real. It’s just in Theo's head. “What- what the hell, man?”

What the hell, indeed.

 _Theo_.

The sound is changing, switching frequencies – two people talking but only using one mouth. Their voices get on top of each other, cutting the other out before melting into one again.

“Stiles?” Scott looks around frantically, as if he somehow is able to see what they are seeing. But as far as they are concerned, Stiles and Theo are losing their minds, nothing else. This isn’t even a real threat but Theo’s terror of it makes it all too real. It’s like the corpse coming towards them is made out of flesh and blood.

Stiles grabs Theo with both hands and pulls him away. As if that would help. If anything, that will only prolong the horror.

The corpse stops and slowly gets in an upright decision. The broken leg catches Stiles’ attention. A jagged bone sticking out just underneath her knee.

“What do you see?” Lydia asks more stressed than curious.

Stiles isn’t quite sure how to answer that. Should he get into great detail about what kind of rotten intestines almost slip out of the hole in the corpse’s chest? Does she want to know how a human frozen to death and then opened up looks like? “His sister,” Stiles mutters eventually. He _knew_ what Theo had nightmares about. Not only did he go through it himself – thanks for the nemeton mistaking Theo’s terror for his own and tried to use it in order to stop him from _waking up_ – Theo also told him; more or less. But this, now – this feels like it’s reality.

“Tara.”

At the mention of its name, it shifts its focus from Theo to Stiles for the briefest of seconds. The grin widens to a point where it can only be described as unnatural, too wide, teeth too black and blue lips split. The cackle that follows ricochets off the walls – and suddenly the body changes. It grows, bones moving and snapping into place with disgusting sounds.

“No,” Theo begs, “Please, don't.” He sounds so terrified, so broken – and Stiles can’t do anything about it. No matter if what he sees isn’t reality, it _feels_ real. Even for him. Stiles doesn’t want to know what Theo is going through if what Stiles experiences is only the slimmed down version of his nightmare.

The corpse’s hair shortens. Its barefoot, the jeans drenched in blood and dirt. The shirt is torn to ribbons – Stiles spots a scar on the abdomen, thin and narrow. There are bleeding gashes on the corpse’s side. The blood is a thick and dark red substance seeping out of open wounds. Shreds of skin hang from the cracked ribs.

“I’m _sorry_.” Theo’s voice is a broken whisper. Nothing reminds Stiles of the Theo who came back to Beacon Hills for a pack and power.

Stiles shifts his gaze back to the advancing corpse. There are runes on the body. A broken one on the hip, one on its neck. A third one on dead skin on its arm. And a fourth, a complete replica of the broken rune on the inside of its wrist. Stiles’ eyes flick up, briefly scanning the hole in its chest and the ripped-out throat – and then he looks in his own pale, dead face. The grin is still there. Blood is dripping from the corner of the corpse’s mouth.

His corpse.

 _Theo_.

Now he can hear is own voice echoing from the walls, a dead gurgle.

Theo stumbles backwards, falling. Stiles, who has still been holding onto him, is pulled down with him. Too stunned to react and no proper leverage to stay upright, the two tumble to the ground. Stiles hisses at the awkward angle his wrist is in and pulls it back – by now, he’s given up on his hands healing properly.

A cackle rebounds of the wall.

This is a nightmare.

This is _Theo’s_ nightmare.  

_Theo._

Suddenly, the corpse is kneeling over Theo. It’s a second that Stiles watches himself looking down at Theo. Then it flickers to Tara. Back again. The fact, that this is nothing but a hallucination, gets more apparent. Still, Stiles knows how nightmares work – and even he cannot shake it. He can’t- he can’t get rid of the horror inside Theo’s head.

Blunt nails press down on his chest, between his ribs. Stiles can hear bones crack and break, he can hear Theo’s choked of scream of pain. It does something to Stiles, he cannot put into words. Seeing _his own corpse_ do that to someone of his pack, to Theo – he lets out a strangled sound himself now, pressing his hand to his mouth, his chest – over his own heart. He flinches, jerks violently as Theo cries out as his ribs finally gave way to Tara’s demands with a sick crunch. The hallucination flickers back to his own corpse and Stiles covers his eyes, presses his face against his knees. He can’t see that. He cannot see himself doing that. But it doesn’t tune out the whimpers, even as he presses his hands over his ears. He can’t unhear the heart being ripped out of his chest. He cannot keep away the sounds of Theo dying. The choking. The blood dropping to the floor. The desperate attempts of staying alive.

And then it all stops.

Everything goes away.

Like a TV being switched off.

Theo is breathing again. Heavy but alive. The terror seeps away. The cold leaves his bones. But he doesn’t move, _can’t_ move. His body is frozen – Stiles doesn’t even know if it is his own emotion that weighs him down, keeps him in place and makes him feel like he suffocates. It might be Theo’s. It might be his. It might be _theirs_.

“Stiles?” Scott’s voice is quiet, careful.

Someone moves, heaves himself off the floor. It is probably Theo getting to his feet. Stiles can hear a shaking breath leave his lips.

“Stiles-“

He looks up. Theo offers him a hand, still pale in the face, still with the horror of his nightmare visible in his eyes. Stiles takes it, let’s himself be pulled to his feet.

“Leave.” His voice is as shaky as he feels.

Malia is stunned into silence anyway, unable to understand why he decides the way he does. But Scott isn’t one to give up that easily. He hasn’t been this persistent as he thought Stiles had beaten Donovan to death by caving his head in with a wrench. “Let me explain-“

“I don’t care what you’ve come here to do.” Stiles feels oddly distanced from himself. It’s the only way he can keep the wrath at bay – and the sadness wearing him down as he realizes that they will never become what they’ve once been. _ScottandStiles_ is over. He’ll just have to accept that. “I don’t care what your little stunt was supposed to do-“

“We just wanted to show-“ Malia starts.

“The next time either of you comes near my pack,” Stiles continues as if nobody said a word, voice sounding cold and bitter, “it’ll better be crawling in the mud begging for forgiveness.”

  

“You’re still not talking to me?”

Stiles continues tapping his index fingers against his thighs to the rhythm of a song he doesn’t know.

“You’ll have to, eventually,” Theo says sounding remarkably amused, “Lydia wants you to. She knows you’re the only one I would talk to about them.”

 _Them_ being the nightmares they faced a couple hours ago. And yes, Stiles knows they should talk about that eventually. Especially since Theo’s nightmares involved his own decomposing corpse. That’s definitively something very high up on the list with things they need to talk about – and Stiles _would’ve_ talked about it with Theo if he hadn’t been his usual self remarkably quickly. Even Lydia couldn’t convince him that the attitude is just something Theo uses to deflect from his weaknesses. Because that’s not Theo. When it comes to his weaknesses and failures, he is a ticking time bomb. He doesn’t play them down, he blows up in the face of everyone who mentions them just to prove that he is stronger; like killing Scott and throwing his plans out the window to become an alpha through Liam, or threatening the Dread Doctors or – Stiles’ current favourite – lashing out at everyone who has the _audacity_ to look at Stiles in a way Theo doesn’t approve of.

Just like he did with Malia, who refused to fucking leave until Isaac hauled her sorry ass out of the loft. Theo told her to research the definition of unrequited love. He doesn’t give a _shit_ about what the other’s might be thinking about that.

Right after, Theo’s biggest problem was that Malia has still feelings for Stiles. It nullifies _everything_ Lydia has seen in Theo. He might have told Lydia and Isaac that not only his sister is haunting his dreams but while that was only assuring Lydia’s assumptions and Isaac being mildly worried what seeing something like that would do to Stiles, Stiles himself isn’t particularly shook. He’s just fucking confused – and the way Theo treated his nightmare? Whatever kind of progress there has been, whatever progress Lydia has noticed, it completely regressed with what happened. Maybe Theo has felt stressed and panicked in the midst of it but as they started asking questions, he plummeted back to old Theo – and again Stiles was left wondering why he gets his hopes up in the first place.

“Of course, Lydia isn’t the alpha,” Theo continues like this is a perfectly normal conversation. “It’s you.” Because sucking up Stiles is going to help him. Theo should know by now that he isn’t going to get anywhere with that. Just like Stiles knows that he cannot simply ask Theo why the fuck he has nightmares about Stiles’ rotting corpse ripping out his heart. He’d never get a straight answer out of him; unless, of course, Theo would gain something from being blatantly honest with Stiles. “You get to decide what to do.”

Stiles leans forward, lips pressed into a thin line. It’s- he cannot- he doesn’t _know_. Stiles has seen him having those nightmares during his own sleepless nights. They are not always bad enough that they tear him from his sleep. But Stiles heard the noises, the pleading. Sometimes, he woke him up. Sometimes, he just made a noise that would wake Theo and pretended to be asleep. But after the first time, Stiles has never bothered to ask about them again. It’s clear that Theo hadn’t wanted to talk about it – and he understands why. It would’ve given Stiles inside in his mind. _Now_ , though, now his nightmare being out in the open plays right into his hands. It only undermines his statement that he betrayed the brothers because of Stiles; even Isaac said it and if someone is as distrusting as Stiles then it is him.

The fact that he seems to be the only one wary of Theo is disconcerting. It has happened before, differently of course. Back then, Theo acted as if he cared about everyone. Now he displays the blatant truth: He cares about Stiles or at least he pretends to care about Stiles. Everyone else is treated the same. They just _happen_ to be part of the pack; aside from Isaac who still gets the occasionally nasty look sent in his direction. But that seems to be enough for Lydia, for Liam and Mason, for Kira and ultimately, it seems to be enough for Isaac. Of course, Theo saved Kira and yet – yet _what_?

Perhaps he is seeing ghosts.

Maybe he shouldn’t be overreacting.

 _Is_ he overreacting?

“Do you want to know why I’m having nightmares about you?” Theo asks getting in a more comfortable position behind the steering wheel.

Stiles doesn’t reply. Quickly, he glances at the clock on his phone. 2:30. Liam and Mason should be here any minute. That would at least end the one-sided conversation – and stop him from giving in. He wants to know why Theo is having nightmares about him. In fact, he wants to know so very much. His sister makes sense, especially after she has pulled him into Hell for eternal torture. His being in Theo’s nightmares looking like that? The runes, even the broken one, the bruises and wounds? That’s pretty fucking recent. Those nightmares have either been going on for a while and adapted due to recent events _or_ they started because of what has happened. But then- why would Theo even think about his rotten corpse? Why would his mind make up this nightmare about him?

That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it?

“If I were to hurt you, it might- I don’t know what I’d do.” Theo looks at him. His gaze heavy on the side of his neck, his jaw, his mouth. Stiles can feel Theo’s eyes on his skin as if he were touching him. “I think it might kill me.”

The reply catches Stiles off guard – and it takes so fucking much to keep himself from answering. He presses a hand to his lips, thumb nail pressing against the corner of his mouth. Even if he talked to Theo, he wouldn’t know how to reply. A statement like this- it is bordering on wrong. He shouldn’t say that. He shouldn’t even _think_ something like that.

Theo pulls Stiles’ hand away from his mouth as he starts worrying the skin on the side of his index finger with his teeth. His fingertips ghost over the fresh bandage; Stiles can hardly supress a shudder. “I’m not- I don’t know how to be gentle.” The contradiction is almost slapping him in the face. Stiles doesn’t give Theo the satisfaction of a reaction. He doesn’t even look at him nor does he pull his hand away. “The last time I kissed someone, I killed them.” For a second, Stiles squeezes his eyes shut. _Don’t_ , he reminds himself, _don’t fall for it._ But the goose bumps are betraying his mind. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

 _‘You already have’_ would be a fair and honest reply at this point. But maybe that’s what Theo is aiming for. Or he is trying to get Stiles to call him out on the lies he thinks he’s telling him. Yet, even someone like Theo cannot fake this particular sort of nightmare. Especially not under the influence of wolfsbane; and with Malia and Scott involved it’s not likely that it was some kind of trick. Plus, Theo doesn’t lie to him. Everything he said might as well be the truth.

“You still think I have some kind of ulterior motive, don’t you?” Theo guides his hand to his lips. The kiss on his fingertips can barely be considered one but it’s like a punch to the gut anyway; like everything Theo has done to him up until now. “Nothing has changed for me.” He keeps talking with Stiles’ fingertips all but touching his mouth. “I’m still gonna be looking out for you.”

Liam hurries down the stairs.

Mason waves at them.

Finally.

Stiles pulls his hand away and crosses his arms, trying to forget every single word Theo just said. He has to remind himself, he needs to remind himself of one thing and one thing only: _he is not allowed to fall in love with Theo Raeken_.


	15. The Little Prince

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay but I had to rewrite the ending because Word did not safe it. ._. Well, now, here we are!

Stiles lets out a long breath glancing up at the sun. He’s sitting on the balcony outside the loft, or rather he is sitting on the hard floor of the balcony outside the loft with his notes in his lap to sort through, so he can start writing the essay that is due to _whenever you think you can write it, Mr. Stilinski; don’t worry about University, your family comes first._ His professors adore him, luckily. Otherwise this particular problem could have become a really big boulder in the way of his future – but since he knows his professors would let him get away with almost everything as long as he adheres the deadlines, he doesn’t stress himself with writing this essay. And after the chaotic morning – Stiles thought he is not in form after waking up but Liam on the morning of a full moon really takes the cake – he guesses now is as good a time as any.

Of course, usually, he would sit inside the loft at the table designated for research and shit.

Unfortunately, Theo is a real fucking pain in the ass.

Since Kira and Noshiko weren’t able to find out anything about the kitsunes hunting the nogitsunes and Stiles, Lydia decided to join them. It was a two-day trip now, to visit some kitsunes Noshiko knows from way back when – and Stiles really hates that. He told them to call every two hours and respond to his texts and calls immediately. They told him to do the same. Mason is at school, texting him after every period while Liam is currently sitting on the floor in their living room playing video games. Mr. Dunbar and Stiles’ father had brought Liam’s TV and PS4 yesterday evening with bags of food. Stiles had never realized how much a teen wolf, a chimera and a teenager at the peak of puberty would need to eat. It’s ridiculous. Isaac, who currently hangs around the police department so Jordan can take a nap, has just texted him that everything is fine. Well, it’s not like Dub and Dother would attack in broad daylight. They despise normal trickster spirits, it’s doubtable they’d do something imbecile like that – especially with the oni breathing down all of their necks.

Theo one the other hand; Theo likes being imbecile.

Best example? Since Isaac left the guy runs around half naked in the loft. Stiles is acutely aware that this is just another trick to get to him, rile him up enough so he would start talking again – or at least acknowledge his existence. What started as a punishment is now more about Stiles’ pride. Because Theo isn’t bothered by it. Just like he was mocking the rune, he is mocking Stiles’ ignorance now. Especially after what happened in the car yesterday. Although Stiles tried his hardest not to react, his body did – and that was enough for Theo to act on. Punishment doesn’t seem to work with him. It’s only the brief second it is _executed_ that he is pissed. Then he sees it as a challenge. Until now, he’s won everything. Lydia called him the second Stiles had gone after Dub, and with that allowed him to leave the house. Stiles got rid of the rune twice now; first, because he needed Theo’s strength, the second time because Stiles thought it more important to secure this loft instead of locking Theo’s chimera away _and_ he couldn’t do both with the limited amount of power he currently possessed. But now only those can enter the loft who are allowed to, so there’s that. He’d rather not have a repetition of yesterday.

Theo probably thinks it’s only a matter of time until Stiles will give in again. To quicken up the progress, he is training in nothing more than sweatpants. He knows Stiles is attracted to him; and that his concentration was slowly disintegrating. There is only so much naked, sweaty skin Stiles can look at until he couldn’t resist the urge to either punch Theo in the face or make-out with him. _Both_ wouldn’t help make him win this challenge. In short, he needed a serious break. That’s why he went outside to write his essay.  

“Lydia just texted me.” Out of the corner of his eye, Stiles sees Theo stretching. So much for his break. He barely survived Derek and his fucking muscle shirt. But this is- this is terrible. Especially since he’s already _been there_. Maybe he should’ve looked more while they were screwing around. “I’m supposed to remind you to eat.” Barefooted, the chimera comes outside. His steps are quiet, barely audible as he goes to the railing. A little bit of sweat tickles down his spine; his damp skin seems to glow in the sunlight. “Apparently, you forget that during a research binge.” Stiles forces himself to stare at his notes instead of Theo’s very nicely toned back. But the words in front of him don’t make a lot of sense suddenly – and he can’t concentrate on what he has been reading up on. _Seriously_ , like this he’s never finishing his essay on sociopaths. “Have you eaten something?”

Stiles closes his eyes.

“You can’t ignore me forever.”

 _Watch me_. Stiles presses his lips in a tight line. There is a lot he can do if he sets his mind to it. Even ignoring an aggravatingly persistent Theo – and recite the facts he has learned during his course. Right now, preferably. So, first of; sociopaths and psychopaths have one big difference: While a sociopath is created, a psychopath is not. This means, the lack of moral judgment originates from a trauma; either an emotional trauma before puberty or an injury of the frontal lobes. That means sociopathy is not-

“Stiles-“

 _Sociopathy is not accountable to genes_ and they-

“ _Stiles_.”

With a huff, he gets to his feet. Theo is standing right in front him, only a few inches away. It takes a lot not to look at his stupidly handsome face or ignore his aggravatingly attractive body. But Stiles doesn’t lock eyes with him, in fact, he manages to get to the door without any problems- and he couldn’t be prouder of himself. The lust prickling at his spine is very adamant. Because, dear god, he _really_ wants to get into Theo’s face; just not in the way he preferred. It’s actually more the urgent, desperate, horny teenager kind of way. He needs to get rid of this want. He desperately needs to get this thought out of his head if he wanted to make it through Theo’s punishment in one piece.

But Theo wouldn’t be Theo if he didn’t try his very best to make this _fucking_ hard on Stiles.

As soon as he can’t be seen anymore – in case Liam would turn to check on him – Theo grabs him around the hips and shoves him backwards into the wall beside the door. A sharp pain shoots up his side as the movement tugs at his stitches. But it is leached away as Theo places a hand on the small of his back, fingers soft in his skin. It’s only a second of hesitation, a glance down to Theo’s mouth, a lingering look, then their lips meet in a frantic kiss. His notepad clatters to the ground as Stiles wraps both arms around Theo’s shoulders and neck to pull him closer. Theo licks into his mouth. Stiles leans into him, pressing up against his body but Theo curls his fingers around his hips and shoves him back. It’s obvious who is in charge of this kiss, even more as Theo presses his thigh between Stiles’ legs and sneaks his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

“I miss your scent.” Theo breathes, nosing his neck. Biting. “This fucking rune.” It’s more a groan on his side as Theo pulls Stiles closer. “Get rid of it.”

Stiles rolls his eyes at the command. Even if he could – he still doesn’t know how the rune has been drawn on his arm – it would be a terrible idea. They can’t tell how much his emotions will affect his pack now after they are connected. It might not do anything to them. It might still affect them. Whatever it is, Stiles is not going to find out on a full moon with a young wolf who isn’t fully in control yet. The IED makes it harder for Liam and Stiles doesn’t want to make it extra challenging by adding his own emotions to his. So, no. He isn’t going to risk their necks just because Theo wants to fucking scent him – or scent him while fucking.

 _What_?

Okay. That’s a terrible train of thoughts.

He gathers his dignity and every last ounce of willpower to put his hands on Theo’s chest. Then he shoves him away. Or tries to because the chimera is very adamant about sticking very close. “Say the word-“ He growls against Stiles’ neck. Canines scratch against sensitive skin, against the black ink of his rune. “Say the word and I stop.”

The thing is, Theo is so sure he’s got Stiles in the palm of his hand. He thinks he can get to him by not only demonstrating how much Stiles’ wants him but also by blatantly showing how desperately he is wanted in return. There has been a time where Stiles would’ve fallen for it, when Stiles wanted to be _wanted_ by someone so bad he would’ve done _anything_. But his priorities shifted long before Theo came to Beacon Hills. He wants to stay alive, he wants to stay in touch with those he cares about, wants those people to stay alive – and love, that would come when the time is right. Maybe his self-consciousness is still terrible but, damn, he is not going to fall back to the insecure boy he was up until senior year started.

Determined, he yanks Theo’s head back by the strands of his hair then shoves him away again. The crude behaviour evokes a snarl but Theo doesn’t make another move. As long as Stiles counts as his alpha, as long as Theo _accepts_ him as his alpha he has some kind of leverage over him. But he can’t shake Peter’s words. _You’re sitting on a throne of glass_. He’s not a real werewolf, not usually the member of the pack who would _be_ an alpha. His natural job is to be an emissary, it is to support the alpha, to aid the pack – not to lead it.

Stiles snatches his notes and hurries inside. The door falls shut behind him indicating that Theo doesn’t follow. It’s not like he’ll be growling and snarling for forever anyway. He’s got an even shorter rebound rate than Stiles, especially when it _is_ Stiles who pisses him of in some way. It wouldn’t be surprising if he has already recovered and schemes how to get on Stiles’ nerves next – or that was just step one on his agenda.

Okay, now he’s getting paranoid, isn’t he?

Liam watches him from his perch in front of the TV. “You okay?” Someone is obviously very attentive. Then again, it’s not like Liam is as blind as Scott. In fact, the guy literally snuck into his jeep because he hadn’t thought Stiles was completely crazy about Theo – and that Stiles had been really pissed at his friends.  

“Fine,” Stiles replies offhandedly. He glances out the window again. Theo has his back to them, arms crossed over the railing. His shoulders are pulled up, his head lowered. It’s so hard to determine what he is thinking right now – if he really feels bad or if he expects someone to check up on him because this is just a part in his fucking show.

“Sure? You look-“ Liam scrunches up his nose as if he tries to get a scent from Stiles- “I don’t know.” His posture is strained and he wears a permanent scowl since he has opened his eyes in the morning. This full moon is going to be great, Stiles can already sense it. At least he was prescient enough to line the loft with wolfsbane and put a rune on the wall so that nobody can hear anything who isn’t inside the loft.

But that gets him an idea. “Monitor him.” Stiles points at Theo outside. “His scent, especially. That’s the only thing he _cannot_ fake.”

“Why? His nightmares are legit, aren’t they?” Liam notes. Since Mason had noticed immediately that something was up yesterday – in fact, his very words were ‘you look like you saw a ghost’ – Stiles gave them a clipped summary about their morning. Liam was silent afterwards, scratching the rune Stiles had given him on his upper arm. The last thing he wants to do is to bring Scott and his fight onto their packs but it seems as if that gets more and more impossible.

“It’s just something I can’t quite put my finger on,” Stiles replies putting his notes on the table. Curiously, Liam drops the controller to inspect the notepad. He doesn’t really look like someone who could rip him apart at a moment’s notice. But the same goes for Theo and Isaac. “So?”

Liam looks up from the notepad. “Now?”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “No, next week.” Liam blinks. “Of course, now, you idiot!”

Not as unobtrusive as he probably hopes, Liam saunters back to his controller. Stiles barely resists the urge to facepalm. He isn’t that bad, is he? Then again, subtlety isn’t exactly his strong suit either. It’s surprising that the two of them aren’t related. Dear god, maybe he should ask Isaac to keep an eye on Theo.

“Sweat,” Liam tells him then decidedly.

“We’ve had this talk before, remember?”

“Right.” Stiles is thankful that the rune prevents not only noises but also scents to be picked up from the outside, because even he can see how nervous Liam is. “He smells like-“ Again, he scrunches up his nose- “Frustration.”

“Frustration?” Stiles asks glancing up at Theo. “What kind of frustration?”

Liam doesn’t look particularly convinced about the kind of scent. But he seems clearly uncomfortable. “Sexual frustration?”

“Are you asking me?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugs even more uncomfortable than before. “He smells kind of horny but also very frustrated.”

Stiles looks out of the window with a scowl. Theo finally turns around and locks eyes with him. “I hate his face,” He states as Theo quirks his lips up into a smirk. That mother _fucker_. What the hell is he planning now?

“I think I’d find him attractive if I were into guys,” Liam comments; a statement that comes completely out of the blue. Stiles stares at him. “But you have a really pretty mouth, too.”

“ _What_?”

Liam blinks, once, twice, then pales visibly. “Did I say that out loud?”

“Yes,” Stiles says, “Yes, you did.”

“Oh my god!” He covers his face with his hands frantically. “I’m sorry. But _I’m_ sexually frustrated and the full moon isn’t helping,” Liam whines, “My wolf’s kinda-“

“Don't. Stop talking, please.” Stiles raises his hands in surrender. The last thing he wants to know is what exactly his wolf is currently feeling. That’s what Stiles considers too much information – also, he remembers exactly how often Liam has been running through the streets naked. It hadn’t been only _one time_ as the beta likes to pretend. Also, Scott’s stories have scarred for life.

“A cold shower might help,” Theo suggests still wearing this cocky smirk of his. When exactly has he come in? Stiles didn’t hear the door. “Unless you have someone to blow of some steam. But since you dumped Hayden-“ Theo doesn’t acknowledge Liam's small wince. In fact, he doesn’t even look at him at all. His eyes rest on no one but Stiles. Liam isn’t a threat to whatever reality he has created in his head. This scene would have evolved differently if Malia or Isaac had complimented his mouth. But not Liam or Lydia. What’s different about them? “How lucky I am that the full moon barely affects me.” Certain things do, like wolfsbane – although that particular brand works on humans as well – or lead, maybe even mistletoe. “But things have changed, so who knows what this night will bring?”

Stiles narrows his eyes at him.

Liam makes a distressed sound. “Stiles?”

“Mhm?”

“That shower sounds like a really good idea,” Liam confesses in a small voice. The tips of his ears are pink, his cheeks ever so slightly flushed. The poor guy.

“You're not waiting for permission, are you?” Stiles finally breaks the eye contact with Theo and glances at Liam, who hurries out the room and up the stairs. Even Stiles can hear the door being shut.

Theo doesn’t say anything for a while, but continues looking at Stiles in silence – a look that seems to scorch his skin wherever it lands. “How much do our emotions affect you?” He asks eventually, a second after water started running upstairs. “It depends on their intensity, doesn’t it? Many different feelings confuse you. A lot of anger makes you angry, too.” He pauses but Stiles doesn’t need any time to catch up what _exactly_ Theo is hinting at. “On a normal day, it occasionally crosses my mind what I want to do to you.” Stiles shudders involuntarily as Theo’s voice drops low. “Today, I can’t look at you without wanting to bend you over the first available surface and fuck you.” _Holy-_ Stiles turns away closing his eyes. "And I’m just a chimera. I wonder how intense it is as a pubescent werewolf who still has trouble with control during a full moon.” Theo crosses his arms grinning as Stiles catches his eye again. “Especially when he smells it on me.” Stiles licks his lips, before clenching his jaw. “This is going to be a lot of fun, don’t you think?”

 

“I really, really hate French.”

Stiles never thought at eighteen years he would recognise the odd tone teenagers would use when they needed help with their homework but don’t want to ask. Sighing, he drops the pen on his papers. His concentration is slipping through his fingers with every passing second. He feels heat dripping down his spine, heat that isn’t necessarily his own – and that is horrible and distracting and embarrassing. He really doesn’t want to feel other peoples’ horniness. Liam, at least, has the decency to be incredibly uncomfortable with that. Theo takes matters into his own hand. Whenever he gets the chance, he touches Stiles or says something and he certainly doesn’t leave his side. It’s like someone attached him to his hip. Right now, he is sitting close enough that with every move, their arms brush against each other – and wearing shirts is obviously not on his agenda today.

“Why do you take French, then?” Stiles asks eventually.

“Because it sounds amazing,” Liam explains throwing his hands in the air. Theo, who is currently tapping away on his phone, chuckles at that. “And Mason speaks French. It would be so cool to speak a language a lot of people don't, y'know?”

Stiles doesn’t point out that French might not be the best language to do that with. After all, California is, like Louisiana, one of the states with the highest French population and it has the same ecological footprint as France. It _is_ , as a matter of fact, the second most commonly taught foreign language at American schools. In 2010, French was with roughly 2.07 million speakers the fourth most spoken language in the USA and – okay, he seriously needs to tone down on facts or he’s going to accidentally write his essay over a complete wrong topic without noticing; like the one time he had during his midterms in economics. His father is still laughing at him for detailing the entire history of the male circumcision.

Stiles closes his eyes for a second. But when he thinks about French, he cannot ignore one other fact. The Argents. _Allison_ and the code she invented for herself and her dad, for the hunters the Argents have worked with. The code that rid them of the horrendous decisions of her aunt and grandfather. The code that made them better people, respected hunters and a wonderful, even if considerably dangerous, family.

_Nous protégeons ceux qui ne peuvent pas se protéger eux-mêmes._

Stiles would like to make his pack into one who would honour this code after they’ve survived this clusterfuck. But then there’s Theo. Maybe they need to cut short on some of the members.

And can there be please _one language_ in the world that doesn’t depress him? First his mother’s mother tongue – because _just_ as he had the pronunciation of his name down, she had died – and now, long after he had learned French, the mention of it comes with negative emotions. Good thing, Latin counts as a dead language. And Spanish, well- Spanish has a completely different kind of sadness lingering around it.

“The Little Prince,” Liam answers eventually. With the scowl he is wearing, he seems likely to snap his pen in two if he doesn’t get the answer to whatever problem he has.

Theo scoffs. “That’s cute.” He drops the phone beside Stiles’ laptop and crosses his arms on the table. “We read that, when, fourth grade?” His look drags over the side of Stiles’ face like nails on a blackboard, down to his mouth. Looks shouldn’t be _that_ palpable.

Liam glares at Theo, cheeks flushed.

Theo responds with a smirk.

This is the most terrible game of ping-pong Stiles has ever witnessed.

Stiles gets to his feet pushing the feeling away. “That book’s famous. Didn’t you read it when you were younger?” Satisfied, he watches Theo roll his eyes in annoyance at yet another display of ignorance. But the kiss earlier this morning – his lips don’t tingle when he thinks about it, _they do not_ – only undermines his determination to ignore that asshole.

Mason snorts. “I tried making him read it. He never did.”

“I feel you.” Stiles thinks back on all the times he’s tried to make Scott watch Star Wars. Up to this day, he never has – and now he probably never will. All these philistines. He still can’t get over the fact that Peter _and_ Theo have seen Star Wars but not his ex-best friend. “But if Mason speaks French, why don’t you ask him to help you?”

Liam throws the pen on his notebook crossing his arms. “Because he is a terrible teacher.”

“I’m not a terrible teacher!” Mason shoots back. “You’re a terrible student.”  

“Let’s use the time before you have to take a shower again to get your homework done.” Because the more time has passed, the more annoying the whole full moon thing became. Shortly before the three of them had left to pick up Mason from school, the whole sexual frustration problem has taken a turn for the worse. Liam complains it’s all Theo’s fault for smelling horny all the time. Theo shrugged it off faking innocence. They made a quick stop at the police department, where Isaac mentioned that he would stay with Jordan and John until the madness was over. Stiles still hates him a little bit for leaving him alone but he doesn’t hold it against him. Especially since he doesn’t want Isaac to be affected by this scent too. Two are by far enough.

“What’s your problem?” Stiles asks leaning over his shoulder.

Liam turns around. “I like your soap.”

Theo and Mason sound like they are going to choke on their laughter.

“Liam, focus.” Stiles grabs his chin and forces him back to the book.

“Right.” Liam nods frantically. “I don’t get that.”

Stiles scans the lines. “It’s conditional.”

“What?”

 _Mais, si tu m’apprivoises, nous aurons besoin l’un de l’autre._ _Tu seras pour moi unique au monde. Je serai pour toi unique au monde_.

Good thing he has kept up on his French with the occasional audiobook. “It’s conditional and translates to ‘but if you tame me, then we shall need each other. To me, you will be unique in all the world. To you, I shall be unique in all the world’.” He steps around Liam and snatches his pencil to underline the conditional, completely ignoring the fact that Mason, Liam and Theo are staring at him in utter surprise. Really, do they think Lydia and he are as close as they are because of his awkward personality and the terror they’ve suffered through? Even Coach Finstock knew he is a fucking badass who’s just been hindered by his ADHD – and that says something. “It’s almost the same as in English.”

“Hold your horses,” Liam interrupts, “you actually _speak_ French?”

“No, I guessed.”

Mason doesn’t take any of his shit. “Why haven’t I known about that?”

“Because... I never said anything?” Stiles shrugs and drops the pencil. “It’s not like it matters.” Derek and Lydia speak many languages, too. That doesn’t necessarily save lives. It’s not like he needed to talk anybody down in Japanese, who held a gun to his head. Not that he speaks Japanese.

Rolling his shoulders, he moves back to his own seat. Yeah, the sexual frustration slowly gets harder to keep away. Holding it at a distance results in a tension in the back of his shoulders and neck, a persistent nagging at his mind. He wouldn’t be surprised if the feeling’s echo is soon to be a constant disturbance in his body. Jesus, fuck. He hopes it’ll never get as bad as it did with the dreadful cold Liam had felt after the oni's attack.

That wouldn’t be fun.

Liam frowns. “But you didn’t take any classes, did you?”

“Nope,” Stiles shakes his head. “I did it per self-guided learning.”

“ _How_ did you do that?” Mason stares at him, the word _intense_ flickering over his expression like a Las Vegas neon sign.

“Very carefully.”

Theo snorts.

“No, seriously-“ Stiles snatches Mason’s pen and scribbles his full name on a piece of paper, then he pushes it back to him. “As a child, I needed a couple of years to pronounce that. After I did it, I thought French couldn’t be that bad. I did a lot of research, listened to French audiobooks or radio and watched a couple of movies. I understand it a lot better than I speak it.”

Liam and Mason huddle over the piece of paper. “What _is_ that?”

Stiles rolls his eyes. Then again, he shouldn’t be that surprised about this kind of reaction. Not many people know his real name, and those who do aren’t able to pronounce it right off the bat. Unless they are a nogitsune. Or Peter. That creeper knows a little about a lot, especially when it comes down to him. “My name,” Stiles replies, “If you want to keep up with us, you’ve gotta improve that research skills of yours, Mason.”

“Oh, come _on_.”

“Your brain is the only weapon in their world,” he says nodding towards Liam, “and they are only alive because Lydia and I know things.”

“Also, you played in Little League long enough to know how to wield a baseball bat,” Theo reminds him unnecessarily. “And you played Lacrosse.” Stiles doesn’t point out that he sucked in both, Little League _and_ Lacrosse. Maybe because he didn’t like either that much. But the only reason Theo would point that out is because Little League was also the thing Theo and he did together after skateboarding turned out to be too dangerous for the two of them – and it was the only thing Stiles had done without Scott. He had kept going there, even after Scott had made sure – in a not-so innocent but still innocent _looking_ way – that Stiles and Theo wouldn’t become something that could threaten ScottandStiles _._ Maybe _that_ ’s why Scott had adamantly tried to see the good in Theo; because he had felt guilty about what had happened only a few weeks before Theo had ‘found’ his sister and the Raeken’s left town.

“ _And_ you had Derek,” Liam replies pouting.

Theo shifts on his chair until their knees bump into each other. Another one of his childish reminders that _he_ is here when Derek isn't. Funny, how Derek is a threat to him although he isn’t even in the US – and won’t ever come back. Which is good. Stiles wouldn’t want to have it any other way. Derek is better off where he is right now; he doesn’t want him to come back. He wants him to be safe and sound, even if that means that the two of them won’t see each other again.

“Derek only told you shit after you’ve almost been maimed by the big bad of the week,” Stiles replies eventually and knocks Theo’s leg away. “So be prepared.” He leans forward putting his chin on his hand. Theo presses his leg against his again, adds a hand to his thigh. “Read up on everything that looks like it could help. That’s how we get through.”

“Even if it means breaking into the administration office to get the transfer form of an unsub?” Theo scratches a nail over the seam on Stiles’ upper thigh. It made him flinch so hard that he knocks his knee against the table. Luckily, the laptop blocks Mason and Liam’s view, so neither can see what – or better yet who – exactly caused this reaction.

But Mason seems to have a suspicion. “Does, uhm, _it_ get worse?” It, that’s just the perfect description of the sexual frustration Stiles has to suffer through.

Stiles scratches the back of his head and pushes Theo’s hand away. “It’s manageable.”

“Isn’t there a rune or something?” Mason suggests.

Stiles straightens. _Holy shit_ , why hasn’t he thought about that? “You’re a genius.” Mason raises his brows in astonishment as Stiles gets to his feet. Fucking hell. All those awkward things bubbling up, feelings that aren’t his own and are way past what Stiles wants to know about his pack members. Anger is one thing, he probably could even suffer through disgusting teenage love – but _lust_ , desire? That’s where he draws the line.

“Oh my god, _Theo_!” Liam hisses suddenly.

Mason barks out a laugh.

Stiles drops to his knees in front of his backpack. Seriously, he’d do anything to stop this shit from getting any worse. And one more rune? That should work out. He can handle that, right? If not, then he just needs to get rid of one of the runes securing the loft – maybe the one where no one can enter. The line of mountain ash should be-

The lists with the runes are gone.

Stiles dumps the contents of his backpack on the mattress, digging through the few possessions he’s taken with him; clothes, toiletries, his file with the lecture notes of his courses, his jackknife, a small bag of mountain ash and the knife he stole from Dain, a charging cable, his wallet and an untouched bottle of Adderall. His pencils and markers are on the table in the main room, as well as his notepad. But the lists are gone. Vanished into thin air.

Or _did_ he put them somewhere else? No, he didn’t. He was studying them yesterday, and as he was so tired that he couldn’t keep his eyes open, Stiles put the lists in the front pocket of his backpack. He remembers himself doing so vividly. Because that’s the place he has put them every time. They all keep their things close. Understandable since they don’t have any stowage place aside from the kitchenette. That’s why they all tend to put their stuff back into the bags they’ve come with. The only things lying around are school books and their research, as well as Stiles’ laptop. Everything else has to be packed away. Stiles established that rule the second they’ve moved in. He _hates_ chaos.

So, why- where are his fucking runes?

“You lost?” Theo appears in the doorway.

Stiles turns around. “You.”

Theo raises his eyes. “Me.”

“ _You_.” Stiles gets to his feet pointing at Theo. “You bastard.”

“As much as I like you talking to me again,” the chimera replies chuckling, “I’m confused as to why you are insulting me.”

“Where are the lists?” Stiles moves in on Theo, who steps backwards hands raised. He acts oh-so innocent. But there is a glint in those blue eyes. A glint that Theo doesn’t even bother to hide. _This is going to be a lot of fun, don’t you think_? That asshole wants him to suffer through the full moon, he _wants_ him to feel what they feel. It wouldn’t surprise him if he hoped that would make Stiles give in.

But that means there is a rune which can shut out the emotions. “The lists,” Stiles orders, “give them to me.”

“Why do you think I have them?”

“Because your definition of _fun_ is slightly skewed.”

“Uh, Stiles-?” Mason starts but snaps his mouth shut as he earns a warning glance at that. He really doesn’t need anybody to interrupt him now. Not at all. Theo wanted Stiles to talk to him again, now he has to live with the consequences.

“Give me lists or I will put mistletoe in every opening of your body to find out whether or not it has any effects on a chimera.”

But Liam has other plans. “Lydia is calling.”

Stiles points at Theo, who lowers his hands with a smirk. “We’re not done here.” The chimera follows him back to the table, like Stiles said – attached at the hip. That is incredibly annoying. But what did he expect, really? It’s Theo. That means it isn’t all too surprising that he leans over the back of the chair Stiles now sits on and lowers his head that they’re close enough that if Stiles were to turn his head, his nose would graze Theo’s cheek.

Liam and Mason exchange a quick glance.

With a sigh, Stiles answers the call. Kira and Lydia greet them. Or, Kira does with a small unsure smile. Lydia on the other hand, that girl is furious. “What did you do?” She snaps pointing a finger at the camera.

It’s not the first time she has bawled him out. “Right now, or in general?” He asks instead of trying to defend himself for whatever she thinks he has done. There is a small chuckle at his ear. “Wait, doesn’t matter. Both answers would include: Trying not to kill Theo Raeken.”

Kira inclines her head. “You’re succeeding.”

“Unfortunately.”

Theo snorts. 

“And?” Lydia asks narrowing her eyes.

“Trying to write my essay.”

“ _And_?”

“Lydia,” Stiles snaps and Liam and Mason both flinch away from the table, staring wide-eyed at the laptop. They’ve probably never heard someone talk to Lydia like that – most likely, they wouldn’t even _dare_ to talk to her like that. “What do you want?” His temper isn’t in the best place, currently. It’s short – shorter than it is in general – and very explosive; both things are accountable to the current very frustrating situation. Death threats, suspense, an annoying headache, _Theo_ and now a full moon night. He cannot handle Lydia snapping at him for no goddamn reason.

“Neither explain why your phone is turned off,” Lydia replies clipped.

Stiles frowns at his laptop. “My phone isn’t turned off.” Why would he turn off his phone? That doesn’t make any goddamn sense. He was the one to terrorize his pack in the first place. Why the fuck-? At her raised brow, Stiles fumbles for the phone in the pocket of his jeans. Fine, then he will prove it to them. “Don’t give me that look, Martin. My phone isn’t turned off.” But as he presses the home button, the display doesn’t light up.

Theo laughs quietly, his head turned enough that his breath hits Stiles’ cheek. It still smells like the peppermint gum he chewed a short while ago – and it kickstarts a chain of memories which only adds to the low-key echo of a heat that is hiding somewhere in the depth of his stomach. “That didn’t work out quite as planned, didn’t it?” That _bastard_.

“What the _fuck_ do you want?” Stiles asks turning his head and pulling away just so he wouldn’t be too close to Theo’s face.

Theo smirks. “I think you know,” he remarks moving his hand ever so slightly. His thumb brushes over the nape of his neck, nail slightly scratching his skin.

Stiles turns back to the laptop, trying to ignore the sensation of this simple action. This full moon makes him so fucking sensitive; or rather the full moon affecting Liam and Theo – and the latter is trying his hardest to exploit that, just like he exploited Scott’s guilty conscience. The worst thing? It’s not like Stiles doesn’t _want_ to. His body would be more than happy if his brain shut up and let him give in.

“We didn’t call to see the two of you bicker,” Lydia says with a raised brow.

Stiles rolls his eyes. “What has your genius mind come up with?”

“Not mine,” she replies almost pleased with the compliment. Stiles can always win her over with praising her intelligence. It’s the simple things. “Kira has come up with a theory about you and the nemeton.”

“Even better.” Stiles smirks.

Kira gives a small awkward wave. “It’s nothing special. I was just thinking that we don’t know how to destroy the connection, and leaving you with a minimum of power is too dangerous.” Not that this is anything new or exciting but he waits patiently for her to continue. Theo is bracing himself on the back of his chair now. Too much naked skin too close to him; this is torture. This is horrible, horrible torture. “So, if we don’t know how to break the barrier-“ Stiles notices Lydia looking at Theo; he doesn’t turn to check if Theo is looking back at her- “well, if there is no nemeton, then there shouldn’t be a barrier, right?”

Oddly enough, that makes a lot of sense. “You want to destroy the nemeton?” Liam asks. “Isn’t that, I don’t know, bad?”

Theo sighs quietly. “How do you want to destroy a magic tree that can put a lid on something like a void?” That’s actually the question Stiles is interested in as well “Light a match?” He’s got a point. Stiles hardly believes that it is enough if they pour gasoline over the nemeton’s tree stump and set it on fire. If they wanted to do that, they probably would need some special fire; like magic induced fire or maybe holy fire or-

Stiles locks eyes with Lydia. “ _Oh_.”


	16. The Taming of the Shrew

“Before we burn down whimsical trees which keep my son from using his full potential,” his dad remarks with a raised brow, “shouldn’t we at least consider other options?”

While Isaac, Liam and Theo are still devouring the extra pizza they’ve ordered – yes, Stiles absolutely envies them for their supernatural metabolism – Mason, Jordan, Stiles and his dad have already moved on to the important topic of the evening. “Exactly my thought,” Stiles mutters abusing the skin of his index finger whenever he isn’t talking. His father is aware of his son’s current state of unease, as it seems, because he offers him what should probably be a reassuring smile. If he knew why Stiles was that fidgety, he wouldn’t be smiling.

Mason’s eyes wander over the people opposite him, Jordan, Isaac, Stiles then Theo, deep in thought. Liam is still in a one of a kind state, agitated and twitchy, and has seated himself at the far end of the table, furthest away from Theo – not that it would help anything. The heat coiling in Stiles' stomach is more refined now. It doesn’t help his own agitation; neither does Liam’s embarrassment about the whole thing. Although nobody says anything, he is very aware that everyone knows about how Liam feels – even Stiles’ dad and Jordan. Because neither Isaac nor Mason let out any chance for a small quip in Liam’s direction; but they kindly enough don’t mention the effect it has on Stiles.

“What about that virginity stuff Deaton was talking about?” Mason offers eventually.

Now is not the best moment to talk about _that_. “Doesn’t work,” Stiles cuts the idea off waving his hand around. Confused, Mason stares at him. After all, Stiles told him almost three hours ago that he should go after everything he thinks important even if it doesn’t look like it.

Liam whips his head around. “Oh, so you did take Isaac up on his offer?”

Out of the corner of his eye, he notices how Isaac pales beside him. Theo’s hold on his thigh tightens – an hour into the get-together, Stiles stopped bothering to push his hand away, as long as it doesn’t move up too high, that is. Right now, it’s just above his knee. To his surprise, nobody seems to have noticed anything odd – or they don’t say anything. Stiles’ gaze flickers to his dad. The expression on his face is very telling about what _exactly_ he thinks about Isaac sleeping with his son. A quick glance at Jordan doesn’t offer a lot; he looks severely conflicted about the possibility of Stiles and Isaac hooking up – the proud big brother or John Stilinski’s stern right hand? Nobody knows.

Fucking hell, Stiles knew this would come back to bite him in the ass.

“ _No_ ,” he emphasizes, “No, I did _not_ sleep with Isaac.”

John and Jordan relax both visibly. Isaac slowly picks up eating again. Theo does, too, although that obsessive idiot should have known that Stiles had hardly any time to get down to business with Isaac. They’ve always been together, aside from the one time he’s been to the hospital and the other time Lydia and he had gone to go grab a coffee. Or that one time he’s passed out. Nothing ensued in sexy times.

“But you _did_ have sex?” Liam seems to have the urgent desire to get beaten with a lead pipe wrapped in mistletoe drenched barbed wire. It’s the full moon, Stiles reminds himself. It’s just the full moon. He doesn’t know any better.

Mason should have. Maybe it’s him he needs to beat up. But the poor guy is human. That would just be rude.

Suddenly, it’s Theo who goes rigid beside him. Slowly, as if not to draw any attention to the movement, the hand vanishes from his thigh. Stiles glances at him in utter confusion as Theo continues to eat his slice of pizza in rather small bites. Then he feels his father’s eyes drilling a hole in the side of _his_ head. He turns to be confronted with the sternest face to ever stern. Oh, _what_? As soon as he rules out Isaac as a possible _deflowerer_ , Theo is the next best option? Does _everybody_ see what Lydia thinks she is seeing but they all decided unanimously to keep quiet about it?

“I did _not_ have sex,” Stiles confesses through gritted teeth. The whole day has been shitty, did he really anticipated the evening to be any better?

As Theo opens his mouth, the answer is obvious; he did not expect the evening to get any better. Yet, he didn’t expect this kind of humiliating encounter. “But virginity is an outdated concept anyway – or at least, it is up to definition,” Theo remarks with a raised brow. “I mean, I don’t think you need to have had intercourse to count as a non-virgin.” It’s probably not the smartest idea to imply to have fooled around with the son of a man who, first of all, doesn’t trust him, and, second of all, carries a gun around which is loaded with bullets that can hurt supernatural beings quite a lot.

“ _Stiles_ ,” John warns as if it is his fault Theo is a fricking idiot.

“Ignore him,” Stiles says waving his hand in Theo’s direction. “Have been doing that for the past two days. Balm for my soul.”

“You talked to him this afternoon,” Mason points out.

Stiles cocks his head. “I wouldn’t essentially call _that_ talking.”

“No, you threatened to have a field test with me on what effects mistletoe might have on chimeras,” Theo deadpans glancing at him out of the corner of his eye.

Stiles doesn’t deign that with a reaction. Instead he smirks at his father, who rolls his eyes at him. Crisis averted; for now, at least.

“Okay, but shouldn’t we make sure?” Mason remarks. Everyone looks at him in confusion. Stiles isn’t quite sure what the hell he is going on about. “That whole virginity thing- I think it’s better to be safe than sorry.” Really? Why the hell are they so adamant about him getting laid? It’s very disconcerting.

Stiles rolls his eyes. “I’m _not_ going to be sacrificed and or possessed, okay? Whether I had sex is not going to be relevant when it comes down to sever my connection to the nemeton.” This is ridiculous. Could they maybe drop this stupid topic? He doesn’t need to discuss this until they are blue in the face. Having sex will not magically remove the barrier in his head, it will not strengthen his powers or do _anything_ beneficial to him other than that he can say he isn’t an almost nineteen-year-old virgin anymore.

“But are we sure?” If he keeps going to be a pain in his ass, Liam will have the most horrific full moon night of them all.

“ _You_ did have sex, didn’t you?” Isaac jumps to Stiles’ aid. “Well, did you feel any different afterwards?”

Liam blinks. “Well, no but-“ He stops, uncertainty lining his features as he looks at Mason for help- “But the normal rules don’t apply to Stiles, right?” It’s not _wrong_. Stiles can see where he is coming from. That doesn’t mean he is correct in what he is saying. Sex, against popular believe, is not going to solve everything.

“Hear me out,” Mason says leaning a little towards Stiles, “why not play it safe? It shouldn’t be too hard to find someone who wants to have sex with you since Lydia has had a hand in your styling.” Honestly, Stiles is at a loss for words. What is even going on? Is the full moon affecting Mason’s capability to think? But before he can reply anything, Mason startles visibly. “O-or not-“ He stutters and Stiles turns to look at Theo- “Let's- let's just burn down that tree.”

If the low rumbling sound isn’t any indication about how little of a fan Theo is of that statement, the yellow glowing eyes seal the deal. “Okay.” Stiles gets to his feet and yanks Theo from the chair by the collar of his shirt. “I get that this is a full moon night but I thought you would have yourself a little better under control.” Theo snarls at the unglamorous treatment. “No, this is getting out of hand.” He continues to pull Theo through the loft, who seems to have trouble getting his feet under him. “I’m just going to set something straight, eat away.” Stiles calls over his shoulder then opens the door and shoves Theo outside into the stairwell.

Before he leaves himself, Stiles adds a small something to the rune; another line so now the rune for noise is fully caged in – like this, no sounds will travel through this wall. Neither from the inside nor from the outside. He’ll be erasing it as soon as he is done with Theo. He smiles at his father, who seems a little chagrined at what happened and slams the door shut.

“What the _hell_ is wrong with you?” Stiles snaps grabbing Theo's collar once again to slam him against a wall. “You can’t growl at Mason like that!” They can be lucky Stiles reacted before Liam had the chance to understand what was going on.

Theo doesn’t look like he is aware of having done anything wrong. In fact, he grabs Stiles’ shirt and spins them around. “You heard what he said,” he snarls shoving Stiles a little higher up the wall, almost lifting him of the ground at that. This time, he doesn’t take away the pain resulting from the tug on his stitches. “I don’t like others objectifying what’s mine.”

The admission is somewhat surprising. Although Stiles has tried his hardest to ignore what’s right in front of him – it’s his default setting when it comes down to people showing interest in him, he cannot help it – hearing it said out loud is different. He feels sick that something inside him is actually content with hearing those words; words that can’t be any more wrong. It terrifies him. He shouldn’t like it, shouldn’t let them even get to him. But the part of him that is revolted by Theo’s statement is met with an almost equal part that is thrilled at the idea of someone wanting him _so bad_ that he can’t have people flattering him.

“I’m not your possession, Theo,” Stiles replies after what might have been a too long silence, “You can’t own people.”

Theo bares his teeth. His fingers tighten around his wrists to a point where Stiles is aware that it might leave bruises if he continues to squeeze. But he locks his jaws to keep out any sound that could betray him. He is not going to be intimidated by this arrogant demonstration of strength. As the alpha, he needs to stay strong. But void or no void, at the end of the day, his body is human and his bones easily breakable.

Theo lets go of him as Stiles can’t keep pain out of his expression. “You have _no idea_ -“

“Theo, I don’t care,” Stiles interrupts ignoring the impulse to massage his throbbing wrists. “This is the last chance I can give you. If you don’t get yourself under control, I won’t allow you to stay anymore.”

There is a flicker of vulnerability crossing over his expression. But it’s gone soon enough. “If you kick me out I’m dead.” He’s aware of the threat as well. Neither Dub nor Dother will hesitate to kill him as soon as he isn’t under Stiles’ protection anymore. They were smarter with the attack on Kira. Using their power will alert him early enough – and Stiles is the only one they are afraid of; as long as they don’t know how much the nemeton keeps him in check. But after he succeeded against Dub without using much of his power, they will be even more hesitant to risk attacking his pack.

“Then it should be in your best interest to play nice,” Stiles remarks sharply. “What’s between the two of us will _not_ sway me in my decision.” Theo straightens at those words, and maybe it’s dangerous to let them slip. But he has no other choice than to stake everything on one card. It’s all or nothing and he banks on Theo’s obsession. “You will play by my rules or you are not going to play at all, understood?”

Stiles pushes past him and opens the door. He doesn’t wait for Theo to follow nor does he acknowledge how everyone in the room is staring at him. His wrists throb but it’s better he deals with the consequences of Theo’s outbursts than anyone else. He can handle them, and with him Theo always stops. Theo will always resort to violence first, and Stiles cannot let him get away with it forever. He’s seen the signs, he knows what the Dread Doctors have almost created – but they didn't. There is one saving grace, there is one thing that Theo will never let go of: the guilt of killing his sister. This emotion is so strong that it gives him nightmares, it’s so strong that it connects him to humanity. In fact, he despises himself enough for what he did that he is afraid he might do it again to someone he cares about.

“Are we going to burn down that tree?” Jordan asks into the strained silence.

“You’re burning down a tree. A tree stump to be specific,” Stiles replies watching Theo close the door. He doesn’t sit down again, instead leans against the wall near the table distancing himself. It’s not his usual behaviour and is therefore telling about his emotional state. Stiles moves back to the rest but stops at the head of the table, close to Jordan. That way he can keep an eye on Theo and the pack – and keeps a distance to the chimera himself because he stands by what he said. Whatever there is between them; if he threatens the pack, Theo will have to leave.

“Actually,” Isaac begins evoking the strong sense of Deja-vu, “Jordan is going to burn down a magical tree, whose power has been kickstarted years ago by someone dying at its roots and that’s now connected to you because you acted as a surrogate sacrifice, which is a huge problem because we have no clue what’s going to happen if we burn it down.”

“Really, Isaac?” Stiles asks.

Theo raises a brow. “What’s the point of him again?”

“He’s- pointing out the dangers,” Mason concludes. He doesn’t seem to be quite sure what to make out of his own statement while Liam is looking as if he still trying to wrap his hand around everything Isaac just said. John and Jordan are glancing at each other, not even trying to process all that information.

Stiles rubs a hand over his face. “He gets shit done,” he decides then. “Mostly. If he gets past the constant _negativity_.” Stiles gestures in Isaac's general direction, who only smirks at the jab to their history.

“Then we should focus on how we find the nemeton,” Jordan notes with a raised brow.

“You’re the hellhound,” Liam chimes in before anybody could say anything, “shouldn’t you know where it is?”

“Nobody _knows_ where it is,” Jordan replies shaking his head no. True that, Stiles remembers how Lydia and he had spent hours searching for that stupid tree stump in the hopes Stiles could find it before anybody else would; although he’s been secretly glad they haven’t found it. But back then he didn’t know that Lydia wouldn’t blame him for what happened to Donovan.

Mason pulls a face. “Great, now what?” Good question. Stiles really doesn’t want to run through the woods for hours on end again without any chance of finding that goddamn tree. They don’t have the time for that, and he certainly doesn’t have the nerve to do so.

“What about the dead kitsunes?” Liam suggests. “Couldn’t you bring them to it?”

He sounds so excited that Stiles feels bad for disappointing him. “Their spark is empty. It’s like they aren’t supernatural.” Otherwise Jordan would’ve already carried them away anyway. So, even if that hadn’t been the case, they wouldn’t have had a chance at finding the nemeton through them after all.

“We could-“ Theo stops mid-sentence at the look Stiles’ shoots him.

John doesn’t keep it at a warning glance. “We do not kill a supernatural creature to find the nemeton.”

“But the nogitsunes-“ Theo starts again.

Isaac interrupts him, “They need to have an empty spark to stay dead.” He raises a brow with his lips curled into an annoyed line. “Seriously, and you ask what _my_ point is? What’s yours?”

For fucks sake. He just had a talk with Theo, does he really need to repeat that with Isaac? Of course, when Isaac picks a fight with Theo, he can at least defend himself. But that doesn’t mean it’s necessary to antagonize each other. Especially on a fucking _full moon_. “I swear to God,” Stiles hisses, which makes Isaac and Theo look at him startled, “if you start fighting now I will get that baseball bat from upstairs, make a few additions and sho-“

“Can’t we ask Lydia?” Mason interrupts quickly.

John doesn’t seem convinced. “There are no dead bodies she could potentially find, right?”

“What about Stiles?” Jordan suggests eventually. “He _is_ connected to the nemeton.” That’s true, but still, doubtable that it’ll help them in any way. Because he’s been connected to the nemeton, too, back when Lydia and he tried to find it.

Liam scratches the back of his head. “I doubt it’ll tell Stiles where it is so we can burn it down.” He’s got a very valid point. The nemeton isn’t stupid – and he is hiding his location for more than one reason.

“I saw it as I tapped Lydia’s mind,” Theo reminds them. Probably not one of his smartest decisions.  

Mason narrows his eyes at him. “You _drove_ her out of her mind is what you did.”

“Sometimes mistakes-“ Theo begins slowly.

Stiles turns around locking eyes with the chimera. For a second, Theo holds his gaze – then he lowers his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest.

“Don’t make me punch you,” Liam threatens with a terribly hidden growl in his voice.

Theo scoffs. “All of you only judge me because I’m the villain here. If holier than thou Scott would’ve fucked up with Corey – _that_ would’ve been an accident.”

Liam narrows his eyes at him. “He didn’t fuck up, though.”

“That doesn’t excuse his behaviour,” Stiles snaps agitated at yet another reminder of something Scott had done that resulted in zero consequences. “You both did something shitty and wrong. It’s not better or worse because you fucked it up. At the end of the day, nobody is going to tap into anybody’s mind without their explicit consent, alright? And right now, I do not want the claws of anyone in this room near my neck for any purpose. Unless you can show me a certification of past experiences, successful experiences, I might add, the answer will be _no_.”

The thing is, his idea wasn’t bad in general. Tapping into the mind of someone who was connected to the nemeton is probably a good choice. It might show them where it is in the first place, and that could help them find it. But neither Liam nor Isaac did something like that before. He is not going to ask Scott, that’s for fucking sure, and Theo- well, Stiles doesn’t exactly want to end up in Eichen again.

Isaac looks like he suddenly has a revelation. “I know someone, who knows how to tap someone’s mind.”

 

Stiles shifts around on the chair uncomfortably. Isaac told him to sit with his chest to the backrest, so he wouldn’t need to worry about falling face first from it. Although he also told him that the pain is only initially bad, it didn’t calm Stiles down _at all_. In fact, he is fucking nervous and doubts that this is a good idea. But they have to check if Peter can access his mind, with the barrier and all that jazz. The void could be a problem, too. They don’t know how it might react to intrusion. It could be catastrophic – but Peter isn’t as worried to tap his mind as he was at the idea to try it with Jordan. Remembering what happened to Corey after he touched and angered the hell hound, Stiles wouldn’t either.

“About that alpha business-“ Peter begins eventually, because _of fucking course_ he would exploit the situation.

Stiles isn’t going to let his nervousness get the best of him. “No.”

“I’m just suggesting-“

“Still, no.”

Peter sighs the sigh of the defeated. At least he knows when to give up; but considering the family he comes from talking to a brick wall is most likely nothing new. Then again, he also is the one who doesn’t give a shit about people outside a very exclusive circle. After what he had said a couple days ago, Stiles knows he is at least at the edge of said circle – and the impressed look Peter had given Theo as he learned that the guy tapped a banshee’s mind without any experience _and_ survived didn’t leave much room for doubt that the chimera could possibly get an invitation for a probation. Apparently, a banshee could easily kill anyone who dared to tap their minds. Peter did it once himself, and the only reasons Meredith hadn’t killed him was probably because she had wanted him to see and because Peter knew exactly how to do what needed to be done. Theo is one lucky bastard.

“Okay,” Peter says rolling up the sleeve of his shirt, “who’s your anchor?”

Stiles glances at him over his shoulder. “Lydia.”

Peter rolls his eyes. “Lydia, who is not here right now.” He nods pressing two fingers against his temple. “Not that I don't trust your ability to stay in control, Stiles, but I’d rather not be blown to smithereens because your void gets angry at me.” Yeah, they’ve kind of established that as a possibility considering his void’s reactions to everyone threatening his pack. They don’t know how exactly it might react to someone forcing himself into Stiles’ and with that its mind. It’s hard to determine whether the two of them are in-tune enough that Stiles’ permission is everything that is needed.

“We have four werewolves,” Mason tries to calm Peter.

Isaac scoffs. “No, we have three werewolves and a fun-sized chimera.”

“That fun-sized chimera will-“

“ _We_ have a hell hound,” Stiles interrupts the argument before they can start it properly, “It’ll be fine, guys.”

“And this is safe?” John asks with a raised brow. Obviously, his father either missed or completely ignored the part where they talked about what Theo did to Lydia. Or was ‘You drove her out of her mind’ not clear enough? Stiles can get a little more into detail if he wants to. He’s been there. He _saw_ what it did to her.

Oh god, maybe he should stop this.

“As safe as it can be when I have to get my claws into the spinal cord through his neck to get into his mind,” Peter explains offhandedly. That’s a little too much information for Stiles’ liking. It really would have been enough if he mentioned the fact about the neck. The spinal cord is what makes the whole idea very uncool.

“We’re calling this off.”

Stiles turns around enough to look at his father. “Dad, this is our only chance.”

“And you’re my _only son_.” Well, that’s an argument Stiles can hardly lever out. Fantastic.  

Peter puts a hand on Stiles’ neck. His skin is surprisingly soft for a werewolf who stabs backs left and right. Then again, it's Peter – what did he expect? The guy has a designer table that probably cost more than Stiles and Lydia’s whole apartment. “Sheriff, don’t get me wrong but hurting your son would be the furthest thing from my thoughts.” Stiles slaps his hand away, eyes narrowed. But Peter chuckles in amusement. “I have a daughter and a nephew- actually my whole living part of the family deals with terrible anger issues-“

Isaac groans. “He knows what he’s doing, John.”

 _John_? When the hell did they switch from Sheriff to first name basis?

“He better be.” That is the face of a very concerned father, who is ready to do anything in order to protect or avenge his son. “If anything goes wrong, if my son gets hurt or killed – your family will be the littlest of your problems.” John makes all-encompassing gesture. “That goes for every single one of you.”

Theo bends down to place his mouth beside Stiles’ ear, who flinches at the sudden closeness. “I see where you get your sense of authority from.” They look at each other for a moment, with Stiles narrowing his eyes again and Theo smirking right back at him, eyebrow raised.

John clears his throat. “I also keep a gun loaded with special bullets from Chris Argent close to me at all times.”

Theo steps away from Stiles, a small grin playing around his lips. “I love your sense of humour, Sheriff,” he jokes but there is something nervous at the edge of his voice. Stiles ducks his head just the tiniest bit. Yeah, his dad is the real alpha in town.

“I really can’t see why people are annoyed with you,” Isaac notes ironically, rolling his eyes.

Theo crosses his arms. “It’s my winning personality. They don’t know how to handle it.”

Groaning, Stiles places his forehead on the backrest. God, he now knows why his parents decided against another child before his mother had fallen ill. Seriously, and Isaac and Theo aren’t even _brothers._ Unless he goes the Derek approach. That would make Isaac and Theo those awkward stepbrothers who can’t handle each other until the very moment someone threatens the other, then and only _then_ they will stand side by side and kick ass. Other than that, they will drive Stiles’ bonkers.

“You sure it’s not because you are a complete whacko-“ Isaac begins.

“Who killed people,” Jordan adds with a raised brow.

Isaac inclines his head. “Manipulated them.”

“Impaled them with a pipe.”

“In my _defence_ ,” Theo chimes in and Stiles rolls his eyes with another groan, “you were trying to murder my pack.”

“You were provoking him,” Stiles mutters in frustration. Honestly, Theo deserved that Valack drilled a hole in his leg. Stiles would’ve done it himself but he was busy catching a roasted Corey. “Can we now come back to the important things? I’d rather get this over with quickly.”

“Of course, you’re on his side,” Theo complains. The only thing missing is him stomping his feet on the ground and pout like a little kid.

“I’m on nobody’s side,” Stiles replies. “I’m just stating facts. You wanted Jordan to become your sheepdog and for that to happen you tried to kidnap Lydia.” Stiles gestures towards Jordan frowning. “And then _he_ threw a burning chimera at me like that’s my fault.”

“You threw _what_ at my son?” John inquires sharply.

Jordan shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “It was an accident?”

“Your pack has more issues than everyone I’ve got to know in Eichen House put together,” Peter comments with terribly hidden amusement. Stiles glares at him. “Fine.” Peter raises his hands. “Shall we begin?” _No._ But Stiles rolls his shoulders anyway, a futile attempt to get the tension out of him, and nods. “It’ll only hurt in the beginning.”

That’s what they all say – and then it is the most painful endeavour ever. Stiles crosses his arms over the backrest. Closing his eyes, he rests his chin on them steeling himself for what’s to come. It takes a few agonizingly long seconds before Peter’s claws press against his neck. They don’t dig in at first. It’s more a scratching, a preparation of what’s to come. This is hardly something Stiles can prepare himself for. _Then_ the claws dig in.

The pain is excruciating. Stiles tries to pull away but Peter keeps him in place with a hand on his shoulder. A choked of sound leaves his lips, unable to do anything about it. It’s a slow burn that spreads from the claws in his neck. The more it spreads, the worse it becomes until Stiles doesn’t think he can get through it. “Is it supposed to feel like my head is being split open in the middle?” He asks through gritted teeth.

“Uh, no?” Isaac offers with a small edge of worry.

“I don’t know,” Mason says just as Peter pull his claws out and steps away, “I’ve never had someone try to break into my mind.”

Theo’s hand falls on his neck immediately taking the pain. “I’m pretty sure the question was rhetorical.” His thumb caresses the skin just underneath his hairline. Stiles lets out a breath, relaxing not only at the pain leaving his body but also the gentle treatment.

“This isn’t working,” Peter remarks extremely unhappy.

“Kiddo, your nose-“ his father suddenly says.

Straightening, Stiles presses a hand to his face. As he pulls it away, blood adorns his skin. Not a lot but enough to add to his whole discomfort. Also, does blood usually look _that_ dark? Of course, it’s dark but that’s- that is very dark.

Although Theo is taking the pain, the throbbing at the back of his mind remains. Stiles doubts there is anything anyone could do about it. “Why isn’t it working?” He turns around slowly to look at Peter. The movement makes him feel slightly dizzy, or it’s the pain being sucked out of his body. He hates that feeling. It makes him feel yucky.

“Whenever I tried to enter your mind, I’ve been hitting a brick wall,” he explains flexing his fingers like it wasn’t just a metaphor. _Great_ , that’s the kind of setback Stiles does not need right now. “I could force it. It would be, of course, easier as an alpha.” That guy is so fucking predictable.

“Nice try,” Stiles scoffs wiping away the blood under his nose with his sleeve. “We’re going to find the nemeton another way then.”

 

After the unsuccessful attempt to find the nemeton through Stiles, Peter, Isaac and Jordan left. It’s still a full moon and no matter how in control they all are, their emotions and scents will make Liam even more anxious than Theo alone. But his father stayed until the colour returned to Stiles’ face and he didn’t feel like throwing up or passing out. Before he left, he made sure to tell Theo to keep an eye on his son and call him the second something seems off. Naturally, Theo promised him to do just that adding that he would never let anything happen to Stiles. John rolled his eyes but left anyway.

“I lined his room with wolfsbane,” Theo explains as he joins Stiles on the balcony, “He’ll be fine.” Of course, he will be but they separated Mason and Liam for the night anyway. Just in case. The day has been chaotic, emotionally stressful. Stiles doesn’t want to risk anything. “How are you doing?”

Stiles glances at him for a second, then directs his look back to the clear night sky. “I’m happy once this full moon is over.” The pain in his neck is gone, and he doesn’t feel dizzy any longer. But he is still stirred up, trying to sort out what his own feelings are and which belong to his pack. It’ll be gone once the full moon has passed – but he doesn’t really look forward to the night ahead.

“I could give you release.”

Stiles rolls his eyes at him. “I know you could.” And he would really love to give in. But that wouldn’t make the heat coiling in his gut go away. It would only add to it, nothing more and nothing less. Again, sex won’t solve anything right now. In fact, this time it will only make a lot of things more complicated. Because Stiles still doesn’t know where exactly he stands in this _relationship_ or what Theo wants and what he’s aiming for. They still need to talk about other things, mostly those related to his dreams and what that means for any of them. And one question has been bothering him for a while now. “Why are you afraid of hurting me?”

Tentatively, Theo puts a hand on the small of his back as if he is testing the waters, testing how far he can go. “I know what happens to those who love monsters.”

“That was unnecessarily depressing,” Stiles announces pressing into the touch at his back.

“It was a necessary truth,” Theo says easily, “When I said, I killed the last person I kissed, I meant it. I knew Tracy had a crush on me, I exploited that.” Despite what he just told him, Theo’s arms sneak around his waist in a firm but gentle grip. He is also careful enough not to put any pressure on the stitches.

Stiles bites the inside of his cheek. “If you’re so sure you'll hurt me, why risk it anyway?”

Theo props his chin on Stiles’ shoulder. “Because I'm bad at rehabilitation.” He makes it sound so easy, as if it isn’t bad at all to want something you shouldn’t. From the very beginning, wanting Stiles has been counter-productive to his plan. _If_ Theo really had wanted him from the beginning like Lydia mentioned. But no matter what, it’s a given _right now_ – and Stiles doesn’t know what to do with that.

“Lydia said you need therapy,” he tells him.

Theo chuckles quietly, pressing his lips against a fabric-clad shoulder. “I thought sociopaths can’t be cured.” The whispered words ghost over his skin and Theo follows their touch with his lips, his nose.

Stiles shudders. “You’re not a sociopath.”

“Why not?” He sounds genuinely curious, although his fingers are already hitching up Stiles’ shirt – and Stiles just stands there letting it happen.

“Because you don’t fit the profile,” he breathes his fingers tightening around the railing. “You _do_ have anti-social behaviourism tendencies. But you’re not checking out as a complete sociopath.” He’s caring too much about people outside himself. Of course, there is the dissocial sociopaths but that’s a little farfetched. Especially since sociopaths don’t usually act superior to hide low self-esteem; and if Theo does have something it’s an inferiority complex; and the sociopathic behaviour might just come from that mental illness. Also, he is part werewolf and part coyote. “You may be a beast but you need to be a real human to be a sociopath. After all, you told Malia you feel bad about selling her out. That was the coyote in you because what you did was against your instincts.”

“You’ve been profiling me?”

Stiles lets a small laugh escape. “From the very beginning.”

“That’s what makes you so different.” Theo places his hand on Stiles’ abdomen, “You see things and you know what to make of them.” His skin is surprisingly warm – or maybe it’s Stiles who is cold. There is a fresh wind tonight but that’s normal this early in the year. He obviously didn’t realize it before Theo’s heat curled around him like a safety-blanket.

“Oh,” Stiles scoffs, “so you want me for my brain instead of my personality?”

“I want you for a lot of things,” Theo bites down on his shoulder, and Stiles arches into him involuntarily.

“Power, security and a pack?”

Theo kisses the abused spot on his shoulder laughing ever so quietly that Stiles feels the sound more than he hears it. “I told you, I don’t care about becoming an alpha, not anymore.” He presses against him, forces Stiles to step closer to the railing.

Stiles can feel a smirk burning into the skin at his shoulder. “I really want to believe you-“

“I never lied to you.”

But that’s the lie, isn’t it? Stiles has racked his brain in order to find out why this statement felt so wrong every time he’s heard it. Something went off inside his head, like an alarm – and after he realized that Scott only trusted Theo that easily because he was feeling guilty about taking away Theo’s only shot at having a friend, Stiles understood a few things. It might have been that exact move which caused Theo’s obsession with him. It might have been part of the reason why Theo fell into the Dread Doctor’s hands. Humans need anchors, too, and usually it’s a family’s job. Tara and Stiles have anchored him. Theo’s parents tainted Tara’s image, Scott took Stiles away from him. But Stiles kept coming back, even if it was just during Little League. It still wasn’t enough. Theo knew Scott would feel guilty; that’s why he recited the story about the asthma attack in combination with the one and only lie Theo has ever told him.

“You did. When you were telling us how you got turned.”

“No,” Theo whispers against his shoulder, “Scott I lied to. Didn’t you notice that I only looked at you when I told the truth?”

“You answered my questions.”

“I only lied about the bite.” Theo brushes his nose against the nape of his neck. “Everything else was the truth. The alpha was there but it didn’t bite me.” Why would it? Theo probably had already been a chimera by then. Maybe it attacked him, maybe it just asked him to join its pack and didn’t take the rejection very well. But how would he know that twins killed their alpha? _Why_ telling them that twins have killed their alpha? It could’ve been something else, something more obvious – another pack, an opposing alpha, a powerful omega. Why twins? A lie like that could have been too easily levered out. Theo must’ve known they have connections, he must’ve known they could have figured out the truth. Especially with Stiles’ obvious distrust. 

And yet, how big are the chances that Theo run into the alpha that was killed by Ethan and Aiden? Maybe Theo had heard about it and used it against them. Everyone knew the Alpha Pack.

But why admitting that he lied only about the bite then? Why not coming clean? It’s not like a minor lie like that would matter much. So, that’s probably a truth then. Theo met the alpha that was killed by Ethan and Aiden. Maybe that’s how he learned about Deucalion and how to find him. It would make sense, all in all.  

“You’re confusing me.” Another dangerous slip, another thing he probably should have kept for himself. “And, and I don't- I don’t _know_.”

Theo turns him around, slowly, forcing Stiles to face him. “If you tame me, then we shall need each other. To me, you will be unique in all the world. To you, I shall be unique in all the world.”

Stiles rolls his eyes, but the persistent smirk doesn’t stop tugging at the corner of his lips. “You’re quoting Le Petit Prince on me?”

“I couldn’t have phrased it better myself.” Theo steps right into his personal space, arms loosely thrown over the railing. He doesn’t cage Stiles in, not really. But it feels like Theo is keeping him in place anyway.

“What are you trying to say?”

Theo leans a little closer, still smirking. “I know why you’ve never send me away.”

“Oh really?” Stiles raises his brows, trying to ignore the want tickling the back of his spine. A want that is certainly his own this time.

“You like me too much.”


	17. The Heart of the Matter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is a story of firsts. It's the first multichaptered one I've actually finished. It's the first one I planned ahead and didn't just let the story write itself [although it totally did. I mean, it was supposed to be three chapters long. I have no idea what the hell happened].
> 
> And now this. Also, this is the first chapter I'm kinda nervous about? I dunno. 
> 
> That being said, there's lotsa room for improvement. But everyone's gotta start somewhere, eh? :p

“Is that my blanket?” Stiles asks affronted as Theo comes back outside. “Why did you take my blanket?”

Theo rolls his eyes. “You want me to fuck you on the cold hard floor?”

“You really know how to set the right mood,” Stiles deadpans.

Theo looks up at him in self-assured amusement. “It’s working, isn’t it?”

Stiles opens and closes his mouth as Theo spreads the blanket on the balcony. The whole endeavour sucks on multiple levels. He really wants it but the premise isn’t great. They’re outside because inside the loft the wolves might smell immediately that they’ve done the do and now he’s not having a blanket tonight. Also, they needed to be careful with the stitches at his side. Although his father had checked them before he left with a satisfied expression and applied a new compress, they are still pretty gnarly when he makes a wrong movement. _And_ everything is kind of blurred on the emotional level but also heightened. It's weird and a lot to deal with.

“By the way, who said anything about you fucking me?” Stiles retorts belatedly, “And why _my_ blanket?”

With a smirk, Theo pulls Stiles down to him. On any other occasion, he probably would have yanked his sorry ass to the ground and done whatever it is that is dancing behind those blue eyes – or simply to shut him up. Both is possible. But with the stitches in mind, it’s more like Theo guides him until he lies on his back. There is something uncharacteristically gentle in this action so that Stiles can’t help himself but feel safe with Theo – and this time, he decides, he would let the chimera set the pace. Because now, it’s not about getting something out of your head, this time it’s about sex _, just_ sex. And he really doesn’t want his first time to be a disaster.

Who is he kidding? It’s he and _Theo_. That’s the recipe for a disaster waiting to happen. Maybe he should call it off, maybe he should- Theo bends down to kiss him. Actually, he bends down to slowly fuck his tongue into Stiles’ mouth. And- bloody hell, what was he thinking about?

“Get undressed,” Theo orders against his lips, “and stay down.”

“Well, glad you have a sense for romantic,” Stiles remarks but he gets rid of his clothes in a rather unglamorous way. The only time Theo helps him is with his shirt – and he does it in the most unsexy way. Stiles feels so parented that he pulls the chimera in by the strands of his hair after he got rid of his own shirt. Theo falls against him, follows him as Stiles lays back down and pulls him on top. The fabric of his jeans scratches against the sensitive skin at his thighs; Stiles gasps against Theo’s lips but as he tightens his hold, Theo growls in warning.

They part- or rather, Theo pulls away and keeps Stiles down with a hand on his collarbone. “Stop,” he growls, “stop.” His eyes glow a faint yellow, and Stiles is pretty sure there are canines pressing against his bottom lip. He’s seen enough werewolves fight against a shift that he knows how it looks.

“How in the world is your species still a secret?”

“ _What_?” Theo sounds confused.

“A little bit of making out and you flash your eyes?” Stiles smirks.

Instead of answering, Theo grabs his hips and flips him around – this time a little rougher than strictly necessary – and drapes himself over Stiles’ back. Belt and jeans scrape against his ass, an odd but exciting sensation which gets even better as he can feel a bulge as well. It’s oddly comforting when he thinks about how fast and effective he can get to Theo. “It’s called the thrill of anticipation,” he says with an amused chuckle. “But before I can fuck you thoroughly, you have to be patient.”

“Patience isn’t my strong suit.”

“I’ve noticed.” Another chuckle ripples through Theo’s body. But he lays down on his side now, moving Stiles a little so that their bare chests are pressed together. “It’s adorable.” Before Stiles can retaliate, he kisses him again – the kind of kiss that makes Stiles ignore the words thrown at him. That and his dick trapped between their bodies is everything Stiles can focus on; until a cold, wet finger probes his hole.

With an embarrassed squeal, he flinches away.

Theo chuckles against his lips. “Relax,” he whispers. After squeezing his ass, Theo grabs Stiles’ thigh and puts it over his own leg. “It’s more comfortable this way.”

“You did this before?” Stiles asks unsure how to feel about the answer. On one hand, Theo having experience at this is kind of comforting. That way, at least one of them knows what they are doing. On the other hand- no, he’s not going to be one of those people who are bothered by previous relationships or affairs. But his very own inexperience is making things complicated as he flinches again.

Theo kisses the corner of his mouth surprisingly patient. “I could blow you during, might distract you.”

Stiles tightens his hold on him, ignoring the way his dick twitches in excitement at the idea. “No,” he decides, “I want to feel it.”

“It _can_ be kind of uncomfortable the first time.”

Rolling his eyes, Stiles presses their mouths together again. He squeezes one hand between their bodies to fumble with Theo's belt. Theo doesn’t make any move at first. Patiently, he waits until Stiles worked his pants open, almost lazily returning the kiss. Probably for nothing more than the sole reason of displaying how much in control he is. Of course, it wouldn’t get easy with Theo. The whole thing will probably be a struggle from beginning to end – not that this is anything but surprising.

“Get rid of them,” he orders eventually.

Theo groans in mock annoyance at the instruction. With a sigh, he rolls onto his back. His movements are slow, bored. Stiles wants to punch him for being such a goddamn pain in his ass. But eventually, Theo shoves the jeans down - and scrunches his face up in frustration, as they tangle at his ankles. So much for his cool act.

“Need any help with that?”

“Shut up.”

Stiles laughs quietly, basking in the comfortable atmosphere. It’s not that he is fully relaxed but he is more at ease than he expected to be; especially considering the partner he’s chosen to have sex with is Theo. But then again, it’s _Theo_. Theo who is so afraid of hurting him that he has nightmares about it. Theo who is most certainly unhealthily obsessed with him. Theo who put his life on the line by backstabbing the brothers, saving Kira and taunting the oni to protect Stiles.

With a sigh, Stiles pulls Theo in for a kiss again. The chimera stills in surprise, obviously noticing something has shifted. It’s not like Stiles never initiated anything but Theo has always been the driving force behind it, the one who would convince Stiles to go just that little bit further a little bit quicker. He never needed to use words for that. It was the small gestures, gentleness, blatantly displayed want, badly hidden lust on a full moon, reassuring Stiles that he is safe with him right in this very moment and will be safe with him in the future.

“I like this better,” Stiles mutters as he straddles Theo’s thighs.

“Because you’re on top?”

“No,” Stiles breathes, “because I can do this far easier.” With two fingers, he turns Theo’s head away from his for better access to his neck. It’s a naturally sensitive area for werecreatures, for wolves – and the way Theo tightens his hold on Stiles is a tell-tale sign. He goes rigid underneath him, shoulders a tense line. Stiles kisses down the side of his neck anyway, small pecks rather than anything else. It takes a few moments, just a couple of seconds really, before Theo relaxes underneath him and bares his neck for greater access. A sudden wave of want rolls over him at that – his own and Theo’s combined is like a punch to the gut. He groans at the sudden sensation of lust and need. Maybe Theo is a chimera but there is wolf inside him – and a wolf doesn’t bare his neck to the next best person.

_But if you tame me-_

Carefully, teasingly, he nibbles at the soft skin underneath his jaw waiting for a reaction. It comes quickly. Theo gasps, his hips bucking up into Stiles’. He’d rather have him naked but he’s not going to complain now, not when Theo is _very_ happy about the treatment. His skin feels too hot, too tight. He feels too full of pleasure. He tightens his hold on Theo, blunt nails digging into heated skin. They are moving against each other, frantic and erratic, trying to get rid of the first hunger. It takes more than he likes to admit in order to pull away – and as he does the disappointment is sour on his tongue.

“I hate this supernatural healing,” he sounds hoarse.

Theo laughs breathlessly, then captures Stiles’ lips in another kiss rougher than before, more urgent. He fucks his tongue back into his mouth almost in a claiming manner. Back to old Theo, as it seems. But Stiles doesn’t mind, in fact, he welcomes it and tries to give as best as he is receiving. This is what they are doing, even when the control is slipping through Stiles’ fingers with every second the heat takes hold over every inch of his body.

Still, as Theo’s finger finally slips in to the first knuckle, he pulls away. From the kiss, at least.

“Eh-“

“ _Eh_? Really, Stiles?”

“That’s my first thought on the whole thing.”

Theo rolls his eyes. “Well, I’m good at _the whole thing_.”

“Of course, you’d say that,” Stiles mutters although Theo is trying to kiss him again. “But this is really _eh_ -” Slowly, Theo pushes his finger in to the next knuckle; and Stiles’ first instinct isn’t really pleasure. But it doesn’t hurt either. It’s just _weird_. But the heat made it a good weird – or it pushes the bad weird away. Doesn’t matter. “People like that?” Humming in agreement, Theo starts to move his finger in small circles, testing, almost _searching_. “You’re not just making that up so that-“

Theo crooks his finger and Stiles bucks his hips with a gasp. “There we go.”

Well, _that_ feeling is definitively different. Not good different but also not really bad different – more like, something he might want to get used to different. He can’t fucking concentrate with all this pleasure rolling over him. But Theo helps him out of it by repeating the motion with a little more pressure now. The third time, Stiles’ lips fall open to let out a low moan from the back of his throat. It’s getting better but it’s still- Stiles still isn’t quite sure about what he should think about the rather odd intrusion.

“Does it hurt?” Theo nips at his jaw.

“No-“

“Good.” He pulls his finger out, eliciting the most humiliating noise in the history of noises ever. A chuckle, another nip and before Stiles is able to give his brain the order to form a reply, he is pushed onto his back. “I like that better.” Theo winks at him and Stiles’ feels the adamant urge to punch him again. It seems to be a recurring feeling when it comes to Theo and his general _Theoness_. But it’s his own damn fault, he knew beforehand what will happen if he gets involved with the guy. “Up.” Theo claps the side of his butt.

Stiles follows the instruction but he also reaches out to pull Theo in for a kiss again. There isn’t enough kissing going on right now, not at all – and that’s incredibly frustrating because as much as he hates to admit it, Stiles really likes kissing Theo. There is something about the way Theo does it, the way he always manages to capture his whole attention when their lips meet. Theo kisses him with a hunger that is contagious, a hunger that makes Stiles feel dizzy. But right now, it also completely throws Theo for a loop. He quickly pushes something under Stiles, almost clumsily, then pulls back and away.

“Stop fucking distracting me,” Theo growls.

“Don’t be so easy then.”

“Easy?” At the change of tone, Stiles notices that his words haven’t been his smartest idea. But his mouth has never been his best friend. “I’ll show you easy.” Theo is leaving a trail of kisses, down his chin, jaw, neck and collarbone, sometimes biting but never leaving marks. He makes a detour, sucking at Stiles’ left nipple, then his right. It’s enough sensation to make him arch his back. He tightens his hold on the blanket. Theo chuckles, moving further down. There are teeth – teeth that are definitively unhuman – scratching against hot sensitive skin, a tongue dipping into his navel.

Stiles doesn’t know what to concentrate on. The blunt nails scratching ever so slightly at his inner thigh, the lips caressing the skin close to where his broken rune isn't patched up – a cheek _very_ close to his neglected dick – or the two fingers probing his hole again. If anyone asks, he is _not_ pressing against the fingers, okay? He is so not- a moan falls from his lips as Theo is breaching him again. This time it is aching and slightly burning but in a good way, kind of. It’s not so much an intrusion than it is a welcome addition to all the other sensations he’s currently experiencing.

They lock eyes which each other and Stiles knows he’s in for a revenge when Theo smirks at him in a way that is far more than foreboding. He scissors his fingers and licks a stripe up the underside of his dick only a second later. _I could blow you during_. Oh god, this fucking asshole is not- how dare he even think about- Stiles will-

But he actually won’t find out what he will do because Theo is sucking him down, crooks his fingers again at the same time and the heat inside him finds its peak; arching his back and shivering, Stiles comes. He falls back, closes his eyes and, _fuck_ , he doesn’t come down. Or at least, he thinks he doesn’t come down. The heat isn’t leaving when it should and he’s- _fuck_.

As his mind is nice enough to start working again, Stiles locks eyes with Theo and flushes. The on arrogance bordering smirk on his lips doesn’t really help the whole situation.

“Easy, huh?” Theo asks while being charitably enough not to move his fingers as Stiles’ tries to calm his body down – or he wants to bask in the embarrassment Stiles has to be radiating in oodles and oodles; he wouldn’t be surprised if his rune couldn’t block everything out.

“I hate you _so_ much,” Stiles mutters.

Theo licks his lips humming – oh god, _oh god_.

With a smirk, Theo twists his fingers again.

Stiles screeches at the feeling of _too soon_ and oversensitivity. Horribly embarrassed, he clasps his hands over his mouth. He’s going to kill him. He is _so_ going to murder this fucking asshole.

But the heat, it feels like it actually got worse than before.

“You have no idea how pretty you look when you come.”

“Please, shut up.”

Chuckling, Theo does, now focusing on working him open – and by the time Theo’s up to a fourth finger, Stiles is already impatient again. Little moans are falling from his lips. He’s squirming against the fingers fucking him open. It’s like waves crushing into each other, pulling him under until he doesn’t know where he is and what is what; and Theo is just _watching_ him. His eyes are hot and heavy on Stiles’ skin, only adding to the outside what he is already experiencing on the inside. This is the worst. He will never hear the end of it. Neither that he came like the virgin he is – was – nor that he is eager enough to be ready for round two within the shortest span of time.

Theo will be gloating forever with this one.

But for now, he pulls his fingers out, leaving Stiles horribly empty. There is a second of cold as Theo gets rid of his boxer shorts, then he’s on top of him again. The nerviness slams back into Stiles like a wrecking ball as Theo lines up. They’re doing this. They’re seriously going to do this, aren’t they? Oh god, maybe he should-

Stiles winces as the head slips in as well as the feeling of being _too_ full. It’s crushed by white hot pleasure. Theo stops moving. But his posture is tense as he is seemingly gathering every ounce of strength in his body to keep still. As they lock eyes, Stiles can feel something tugging at his heartstrings, pulling him back to the surface. Theo’s jaw is clenched, cheeks flushed and a few streaks of his usually styled fringe stick to his forehead with sweat. The blue eyes are dark with lust and his whole expression is so fucking open and readable, almost bordering on vulnerable. _Fuck,_ Stiles hasn’t realized how debauched he is looking. He didn’t even expect that it is possible for him to do that to another person.

He smiles at Theo; not a smirk but a genuine smile and wraps an arm around his neck pulling him down for another kiss. Carefully, he moves against him

Theo groans against his lips as he slips in a little further.

Stiles runs his fingers over the nape of his neck, focusing on the intensity of Theo’s emotions instead of the annoying ache in his own body. Knowing what Theo feels, sensing how it adds to his own pleasure-  a shiver runs down Theo’s spine and he rolls his lips probingly. He groans against his lips, hand tightening on the back of his neck. It’s unclear what’s more, Theo’s pleasure or his own. The noise Stiles makes seems to satisfy him because a second later, he intertwines their fingers and pushes in until he’s buried balls deep.

It doesn’t need much from there on. Theo hides his face at the crook of Stiles neck kissing the sweaty skin in time with his movements. Stiles bares his neck for better access, trying to meet him halfway. Theo sets up a fast but steady rhythm. Long thrusts that hit his prostate every _fucking_ time. He completely loses his sense of time because everything is attuned to Theo, his scent, his touch – the way their bodies move in perfect sync. The way Theo’s pleasure curls around his own, adding to it, heightening it. He is unable to distinguish what is a projection and what is actually a feeling, so he doesn’t even try.  

By the time Theo’s rhythm stutters, Stiles’ body is eager to finish again.

They almost come at the same time. Stiles is first; the feelings become as park, become a burn, become a fire. The sensations are crashing down on him, exploding around him. His lips part for a silent moan, his back arching, blunt nails digging into the skin between Theo’s shoulder blades and muscles tightening around him – and his whole body is burning.

Theo says his name in a moan that sounds as if it is punched out of him, thrusting once, twice and then stilling. Teeth sink into his shoulder, hard enough to break skin. Faintly, Stiles can hear fabric tearing. Then Theo falls into him with a groan, softening dick still inside him.

Stiles seems to be the one who pulls himself together first, which is surprising after coming twice in a row. But his brain seems to be always online – even after being thoroughly fucked. Closing his eyes, he runs the fingers of his free hand alongside Theo’s side and back.

Theo is twitching on top of him, still working through the aftershocks of his orgasm. His hand squeezes Stiles’ tightly and as he turns his head to check, he notices black lines on his skin taking the horrendous pain the bite would’ve caused otherwise. _Holy_ crap. It sinks in now, all of the sudden, what actually happened. Theo just fucking _bit_ him. But has it been an accident? Was it a loss of control? It is a full moon but he didn’t expect Theo to be this susceptible to its powers. The super moon had barely affected him.

But maybe he should think about that once he’s more awake. The longer he lays here, with Theo’s warmth and body enveloping him, the pain being taken and the post-orgasmic bliss setting in, the lesser he wants to move or think or do anything at all.

“We could sleep outside,” Stiles mutters against the side of Theo’s neck. Moving sounds like a terrible decision.

For a few seconds, it seems as if Theo has already fallen asleep on top of him. “I could,” he answers then groggily, “the puny human would freeze his ass off.”

“Good to know you’re still annoying.”

Theo huffs against his neck. “You smell like me,” he responds to the insult. “Like mine.” Stiles is too tired to remind Theo that there is no such thing as ownership in any form of relationship that does correspond with the law. “Wonder what it’ll be like when your scent’s back.” Theo presses his lips to the bite on his shoulder – maybe it was completely intentional, he seems at least to be aware what he’s done – and pulls out.

Stiles scrunches up his nose at the feeling. “ _Eh_ -“

 

Blindly and half asleep, Stiles fumbles for the phone somewhere beside his head. Good thing, he put it on vibration then. It’s not like he needs sleep or anything. “’lo?” He mutters without checking who called in the first place. Chances are low enough that someone dialled the wrong number, so whoever is calling most likely wants something important.

“Did I wake you?” Lydia asks quietly.

Stiles sits up slowly, noticing Theo’s arm slipping down his chest. He blinks for a second, organising his thoughts. Then he shakes his head. Lydia usually calls per video chat. Stiles isn’t exactly sure why but it has been a thing for them for quite some time now. Hopefully, she can’t see what happened on his face. Really, that would be horrible. “It’s fine.” Yawning, he positions the phone in a way that the full moon light illuminates him enough to be seen while Theo’s sleeping form remains outside the view. It would be great if the guy doesn’t wake up. But as for right now, he seems to be fast asleep because he doesn’t even react to Stiles’ changing position.  

And he doesn’t seem to have any nightmares.

“How are things going?”

O _h, well- you know. Theo and I got things going spectacularly a couple hours ago._ Stiles runs a hand over his face hoping it’s more a sign of his tiredness than desperation. He has no clue how he is supposed to tell anybody what he’s done. “We survived the full moon,” Stiles whispers decidedly and shivers as he leans against the cold stone wall. This loft needs a renovation. “Everything’s good.” Aside from his throbbing shoulder.

He really needs to ask Theo what the hell he was thinking. Not only that his body is already an exhibition of bruises and he didn’t really need an addition to that, Stiles is also not sure what that even means. Theo couldn’t turn him and his wolf must’ve been aware of that. But it’s so hard to believe that control slipped away from him, although Stiles saw that Theo tore the blanket; no matter how much he tried to hide it.

Good thing he was awake enough to put on a shirt before he’d fallen asleep, because the bite on his shoulder would be very hard to explain.

She smiles at him. Knowing isn’t always a blessing. “And you were worried you’d mess something up.” Her voice is quiet too, and as she checks over her shoulder Stiles assumes it’s because at least Kira is sleeping in the same room as her. He isn’t even quite sure what time it is where they are right now. Are they behind or in front of them? Jesus, he’s so fucking tired and exhausted and _everything_ tells him that he needs a lot more sleep than what he’s gotten.

“ _Duh_.” Stiles runs a hand over his face. If only she knew how much he might’ve messed _something_ up – namely his relationship with Theo. Still, that’s a problem for Stiles in the future because that particular Stiles will gladly be sorting out the problems Stiles is causing right now. “How’s the meeting with the kitsune been?”

“Well,” Lydia sighs, “it turned out the kitsune Noshiko knows isn’t a kitsune.”

Stiles frowns. He’s too tired and distracted for this bullshit. “What?”

“She is the first void.”

That wakes him up for good. “ _What_?” He asks. Theo stirs beside him and Stiles freezes for a second, then lowers his voice again. “How is she still alive? That would make her like-“ He waves his hand around- “ _ancient_.”

“And you’re surprised your only romantic relationship was with a girl that spent most of her puberty as a coyote?” Lydia raises a brow. Well, she’s got a point. But his brain-to-mouth filter hasn’t been working properly since he’d learned how to talk.

“What did she tell you? What does she know? How can I-?”

Lydia raises a hand. “Slow down, whiz kid.” She is well aware of how much Stiles hates this nickname. He doesn’t even know where she’s picked it up. But every time he asks, she’d just smirk at him and say _a woman without secrets is like a book without a story_. Stiles hates not knowing. “I will explain you everything tomorrow.”

“I hope you made notes,” Stiles mutters because considering her age, she must have picked up enough knowledge to fill an entire encyclopaedia. 

“Do you want to know what she told us other than how you can control your powers?” Of course, he does. But he is still too exhausted to deign this stupid question with an answer. “Dain was right. A void is better off with an alpha; at least a young one who’s recently woken up. Annabelle is currently having a normal unsupernatural family and living a happy life. Her void is dormant.”

 _Dormant_? “I can get rid of it?”

Lydia shakes her head. “No, but it’s only active when those it woke up to protect are in great danger; like, for example, a rampaging nogitsunes who threaten to make you watch them kill your pack kind of danger.” Is he rubbing off on her? He is, isn’t he? “As soon as the threat’s gone it’s going back to sleep.” That doesn’t sound too bad, still, Stiles wouldn’t mind if it left completely. But that’s probably too good to be true.  “And apropos Carman,” Lydia adds with an equally tired smile, “she woke up without a pack. She hadn’t even encountered the supernatural beforehand.”

That doesn’t make the slightest lick of sense. At least, if he thinks about everything he has learned so far. “How did she wake up then?” He thought a void needed a pack. His mother said that as well.

“She had a lover,” Lydia explains her voice dropping a little further as she glances over her shoulder again, “That lover was ripped away from her violently and the grief of her sons and her own drove her mad.”

Stiles runs his finger through his dishevelled hair. Emotions, again. “Why are emotions affecting us so much?” It’s like voids are a fucking sponge for every single feeling out there. It is very frustrating. If every full moon until Liam has himself under control is going to be like that, Stiles will go crazy. Those are no conditions to live under. Even now he can feel _something_. It’s not as bad as it has been but it is still there.

“Annabelle said, she died because of her love and was resurrected because she was loved. She assumed it left a mark on her spark _and_ she reasons this mark makes a void predetermined to protect those they care about, no matter what,” Lydia replies slightly inclining her head.   

“Which brings the question, a lover-?”

“Not just a lover.” Lydia shuffles around on the bed – and Stiles envies her for having an actual bed. The mattress Theo and he are sleeping on isn’t exactly terrible, but it isn’t essentially big enough for two young adult males. Still, a bed is something entirely else; and seems like a luxurious object to have right now. “It's more about a strong emotional connection, some form of anchor. If that’s your lover then yes, they can wake and control a void as well.” Now Stiles understands why Peter asked who his anchor is. It is good to know that an alpha isn’t strictly needed for him to stay _in_ control. Lydia seems to be enough.

“Huh.” But he is still curious. “If a lover and an alpha can control a void, what happens if the lover isn’t the alpha _but_ in the same pack?”

Lydia raises a brow. “There will still be the natural order,” she replies as if the answer is obvious, “the alpha, the lover, the void.”  

Well, that sucks. “It’s naturally submissive?” He is the least submissive type of person on this planet. Seriously, he blew up in Derek and Scott’s faces during the most inconvenient situations.

“Only if there is a working pack.” Because, of course Lydia has an answer for that as well. “If the void doesn’t agree with an alpha and believes the decisions the alpha made endangers the pack, it will act accordingly.” He really doesn’t want to think about what exactly _that_ is supposed to mean. “And if there is no alpha but you, for example, were to fall for someone in our pack, you would still be above them in the pecking order.” Is she hinting at something? Why does Stiles get the feeling she is hinting at something again? And how many exceptions to the rule exist for voids? That is bloody stupid. “Because if there isn’t an alpha, a void naturally takes its place until it chooses someone worthy of that position.”

 _Chooses?_ Now, that doesn’t sound good either. “How does it choose someone for that position?” He’s never going to understand what the hell he is supposed to be or what he is able to do. This is a disaster.

Lydia inclines her head. “Instinct,” she says then slowly. “You meet someone you trust instinctively, someone you know who would be able to protect your pack; even from yourself.”    

She is getting suspicious, he can hear it in her voice. But Stiles has to ask one more question: “So, it’s not inevitably the person a void might fancy?”

“No,” Lydia draws out the word in a way that makes him cringe slightly. “Stiles, did something happen since we left?”

Stiles opens his mouth, closes it and at the lack of a good reply, his brain kind of short-circuits. “What? No, no. Nothing _happened_.” Other than the fact that Theo and he kind of fucked yesterday, and that he doesn’t feel bad about it at all, although he knows it was a terrible, _terrible_ decision in the first place. “Why do you think something would have hap- how do I know that it wasn’t you something happened-“

A groan beside him startles him into silence. “It’s half past four in the morning,” Theo mutters into his pillow. Stiles scowls as the bright light of his phone hits his face. “Who the hell are you rambling to?”

Lydia opened her mouth, eyes wide. For a second, she is speechless. “Was that Theo?” She asks then her voice quiet but ever so high pitched. Stiles has no idea what she is thinking right now; which is kind of scary, admittedly.

But his desire to punch Theo in the face is back as well. If breaking his hand doing so would be _worth it_ at any rate. “That was not-“

“Hi, Lydia,” Theo interrupts him in a raspy voice.

“Okay,” Stiles drawls glaring down at the sleep deprived chimera, “that might have been Theo.”

Lydia makes a sound that could almost be considered a squeal. But it’s not a squeal. A Lydia Martin doesn’t squeal.

She totally does, he just won’t be the one to tell her that.

“This is _not_ what it looks like,” he hurries to explain before she is able to even start thinking about wanting to put the puzzle pieces together. “There was a blanket shortage and-“ Stiles tries to stand up – sleeping on mattresses on the floor after sex is really counterproductive for muscles to work properly – but Theo pulls him back with a petulant _No_ before he uses him as a pillow. Obviously, tired and post-orgasmic Theo is a cuddly Theo; Stiles isn’t quite sure if he should find that endearing. Right now, he still wants to hit him with something hard. “Well,” he says because lying is kind of pointless in his current situation, “this might be what it looks like, listen, I'm- _stop_ smirking, this isn’t funny.”

Lydia grins. “It’s a little funny.”

“It’s a lot funny,” Theo agrees.

Stiles pushes his face away. “Can you please go back to sleep? Nobody likes you.”

Lydia scoffs. “ _Right_.” Stiles glares at her but she makes a dismissive gesture. “I’m not judging you. I mean, you do remember who I’ve been in a relationship with?” How could he _not_? Jackson and Aiden, neither of them could be counted as good relationship material. But at least Jackson is only an arrogant prick – and Aiden was only a killer as long as he had been under Deucalion’s thumb. Stiles managed to get a guy with an antisocial personality disorder and topped it off with an inferiority complex. Holy crap, what the fuck did he get himself into?

“Yeah, well-“ Stiles shuffles around until he lays a little more comfortable- “it’s not like I’m in a relationship with him.”

Theo smirks at those words. Stiles can feel his lips moving against the fabric of his shirt. Then he nods, although Lydia still can’t see him. “We’re taking it slow on the emotional level,” he explains eventually.

Lydia’s eyes widen at the statement in what could only be called unwelcome excitement.

“Seriously?” Stiles glares at Theo. “Shut up and sleep. Or don’t sleep but _shut up._ ” This isn’t what this talk was about, okay?

“I really want to know the details when I’m back home,” she states gleeful.

Stiles shakes his head. “ _No_ , no details and even more importantly, nobody gets to know about this.” He doesn’t even want to think about the ramifications when someone gets wind of whatever _this_ is. At least before he figured _this_ out on his own. “Not the pack, not my father – especially not my father. I honestly can’t think of a solution without anyone getting a face full of lead.”

Theo’s smirk fades. “That someone being me.” A crease appears between his eyebrow.

“Of course, it’s you, idiot.” Theo pinches his side in retaliation which makes Stiles’ flinch and almost drop the phone. As Stiles glares at him again, he rolls off him and sits up, naked back against the cold stone wall.

“I’m sure it’s not that bad,” Lydia offers with a faint smile.

“No, it’s actually worse.”

Stiles cranes his neck to look up at Theo. The guy seems seriously troubled at the mention of his father’s possible reaction to the kind of relationship they are having. It’s a little disconcerting, if Stiles is being blatantly honest.  

“Why is everyone afraid if your dad?”

Theo opens his mouth before Stiles has the chance to answer. “Have you met the guy?” True, everyone is afraid of his father – or has at least a certain amount of respect for him; unless they have a serious death wish. For the next big bad, maybe they should just send John Stilinski on his merry way. Sure enough, whoever wants to rampage through Beacon Hills will tuck tail, leave and never come back.

Lydia clicks her tongue. “Not under the premise of shagging his son, no.”

“Dear Lord, Lydia, language.” Stiles sits up again, too. Their shoulders touch, and Stiles hooks his pinkie around Theo’s. For a second, the chimera looks down because of the gesture. Stiles can’t really read what’s going on in his mind right now, but the least he can do is give him some sort of comfort; despite the things he is saying out loud he’d rather not have his father do anything to Theo. But he honestly isn’t quite sure how to prevent the inevitable. At least if they keep this thing going. His father isn’t the Sheriff because he was the only one available for the job at the time. He figures things out.

Theo sighs running a hand over his face. “I did not think that far ahead.”

“It’s called consequences,” Stiles replies with a small grin. “Get used to it.”

Theo growls at him. It’s not a Malia growl, one that kind of scared Stiles. It’s more like a _why-do-I-put-up-with-you_ growl. It’s a little endearing. “I was not aware that deflowering you comes at the price of being shot.”

“If I recall correctly, you’ve been the one who said that virginity is an outdated concept anyway.”

“ _Stiles_ -“

“We don’t have to continue.” The words taste bitter on his tongue the second they left his mouth. “Once won’t do any harm, right?” Stiles wants them to continue; and he has not a single clue what exactly he is supposed to make out of that. First, a girl who was afraid to show her true genius, then a crushed and broken born werewolf and because that wasn’t complicated enough, a werecoyote who had no idea how to human. Now, to top it all off, a chimera who has been damaged from the beginning and was chosen to become the true evil, so he was raised to become a sociopathic, megalomaniac teenager. But the Dread Doctors ignored the instincts of the artificial beast they’ve created – and the grief and love he harboured for his sister.

That particular failure doesn’t exactly make Theo good relationship material. But it’s a start. Probably. _Maybe_. Listen, it’s something Stiles can work with.

“What if you make it a little less about sex and a little more about feelings-“

“Really?” Stiles ignores the way she draws her eyebrows in at the interruption. “That’s your great approach? The guy's emotional spectrum doesn’t even fill half a teaspoon.”

Theo intertwines their fingers hidden from view. “It’s different when I’m with you.”

Lydia coos.

“Oh my god.” _What the hell_? Can he stop saying things that completely throw Stiles for a loop? What is he supposed to say to that? And does he mean that or is he making fun of Stiles right now? He can’t really read Theo’s expression other than the raised eyebrows and the small smirk curling around his lips. Neither is indication enough to ensure that his words are true or ironical. “You are one phone call away from a shotgun to your face.” All three of them know this is an empty threat. But Theo has enough common sense to act accordingly. He pulls a face and acts like he is sorry for his words. Stiles huffs out a breath. “Can we now please come back to what you found out?” He doesn’t have the nerve to deal with this shit at ass o’clock in the morning. “Does Annabelle know why the nemeton is so angry at me?”

Lydia is almost immediately back in serious mode. “It helped create the first void.”

“So, now it wants to get rid of the mess it created.” Theo raises a brow.

Well, that’s just great. Another threat to his life. Hooray. “How do _we_ get rid of _it_?” Stiles asks exhausted. Theo squeezes his hand in what probably should be a reassuring gesture – but Stiles honestly isn’t in the right mindset for something like that.

“You’re not connected to the tree per se,” Lydia answers, “It’s a barrier in your mind. Which means burning it down won’t help you.”

Theo groans. “So, what? Stiles has to play make believe?”

“He has to break the barrier in his mind. Similar to what we did with the nogitsune,” Lydia says slowly. Which means he has to push the nemeton or its barrier or _whatever_ out of his mind. But how? It’s not going to be possible, at least not like this. “Although I suggest _you_ shouldn’t try to get into Stiles’ mind,” she remarks looking at Theo.

“We are not allowed to tap anyone’s mind without their consent,” Theo says sounding like a little child who tells a stranger that their parents don’t allow them to talk to said strangers. Can that be counted as progress or is this another ironic approach?

Stiles shakes his head. “Peter tried tapping my mind. Didn’t work.”

Lydia purses her lips. “You’ll find a way,” she says then smiling, “You always do.”

The reassurance doesn’t really help with getting a solution for their problem. “Well, that sounds like a fun experience, don’t you think?”

Theo groans.


	18. Falling Into Place

Theo is sprawled on the mattress when Stiles comes back from his shower. Shaking his head, he slips into his jeans. It’s still early, not even half past six yet. After the talk with Lydia, Theo was able to fall asleep again but Stiles didn’t. His mind was reeling. How does one push something powerful like the nemeton out? How do you even break a barrier like that? The bestiary wasn’t particularly helpful on that – it doesn’t even _involve_ a chapter about a void – and it’s not like you can find a manual in the world-wide web. The internet knows a lot but Stiles found its borders. There is the possibility of making someone of his pack into an alpha to try and force the barrier to break. But that doesn’t come without dangers, very life-threatening dangers. He could die, lose his mind, be paralyzed; there is just a lot of risks. Stiles stopped reading about the hazards of tapping into someone’s mind not even halfway into the whole list. He is thinking about forcing it another way – his powers came through in sudden bursts; keeping Derek afloat, hitting Aiden and Ethan’s alpha form with a baseball bat, keeping Malia from punching through a wall and lifting her off the floor as she tried to attack Theo; the latter happened with the barrier already in his head. It’s always been in a situation of danger. He can hardly put himself or his pack in the line of fire in order to force this power – but he needs another way to replicate this _feeling_ , this burst or power. Maybe it’s simple enough: If he is always slamming his fists against the same spot, he might be able to weaken the barrier enough for it to crack.

And how could the puny human possibly evoke such a burst of power without throwing himself in mortal danger? Correct, fight the supernatural creatures in his pack. The best idea for as successful candidate would be Theo because that guy still manages to accidentally make him angry remarkably quickly, no matter their relationship – and anger might be exactly what he needs.  

A noise startles him out of his thoughts. Frowning, he turns his head to look at Theo who has rolled onto his back, which is a tell-tale sign in itself. A moment later, he winces again, a distressed sound piercing marrow and bone. Dropping everything Stiles crosses the room quickly.

“Hey.” He grabs Theo’s shoulder, shaking him. “Hey, wake up.”

Almost immediately, Theo wakes with a start. His eyes are flashing yellow again, like the first time he’s seen him waking from this particular nightmare. But now, he doesn’t attack Stiles who keeps a hand pressed to his shoulder to ground him. He breathes heavy for a while, trembling although he tries his hardest to keep it hidden. There is nothing worse than to watch someone wake up from a nightmare, watching them suffer from fear and not being able to do anything about it.

Worried, Stiles puts a hand on Theo’s cheek, caressing his skin. To his surprise, Theo leans into the touch and closes his eyes again. He looks vulnerable enough that Stiles can’t ignore any longer how much it afflicts Theo to see his sister ripping his heart out night after night. “You need to talk to someone.”

Theo scrunches up his face. “You’ve seen what my nightmares are about.”

“That’s not talking,” Stiles replies, “I understand that you’re scared and grieving and-“

“Then you know everything you need to know.” Theo pulls away with a scowl.

“This isn’t magically going away.” Stiles runs his still raised hand through his damp hair. “You don’t have to talk to me but you have to talk to-“

“Nobody,” Theo hisses.

Stiles places his hands in his lap, dropping into a more comfortable position beside the mattress. He doesn’t necessarily qualify to have this kind of talk, not at all – he’s been plagued with nightmares his whole fucking life. He had panic attacks before the nogitsune; it’s obvious that the horrors he sees at night are rooted deeper than what the nogitsune did to him. His mother, for one part, his father’s alcoholism, people being ripped apart by werewolves, his friends dying, getting hurt, kidnapped. Maybe it’s the same with Theo; maybe the nightmares aren’t rooted in the torture he suffered in Hell. Because Hell is only a concept, Hell is a place where your worst fears, your darkest memories come true; a place where your secrets haunt you.

“You didn’t have a nightmare tonight,” he says eventually, “when you were sleeping next to me. Why?” Theo shoots him a dirty look, aware that Stiles knows the answer already. “Your subconscious knew I’m alive, so it couldn’t drown you in guilt because I was sleeping next to you.” Because that’s the problem, isn’t it? Theo hasn’t forgiven himself for what he had done to his sister and he believes that, since he had hurt a person he cared about once, he is likely to do it again. That’s why the image of his sister ripping his heart out is so strongly embedded in his mind. That’s why Stiles sleeping next to him has calmed his subconscious enough not to conjure any nightmares. “But under different circumstances-”

“Stop profiling me.”

Stiles ignores the interruption. “Under different circumstances you feel bad about what you did to Tara.”

“I said _stop_.”

“But it’s not your sister that has to forgive you and neither do I.”

Theo snarls. His hand shoots forward quicker than Stiles can react. Although his first instinct is to flinch away, he doesn’t. He stands his ground. No submission going on here, buddy. Stiles wonders if Theo knows, and maybe somewhere in the back of his mind a voice muttered that perhaps that’s what Theo still wants, why he fights this adamantly for him. But Stiles isn’t naive, no, he will keep an eye on him even _if_ they continue whatever this is.

“ _Don’t_ ,” Theo snaps, yet he doesn’t touch him. Instead his hand hovers in the air between them. Although he wanted to grab his throat to shut him up, an instinctive reaction, he doesn’t. He stopped himself from resorting to violence to get his way. That’s progress or something, maybe. _Hopefully_. Still, Theo is clearly aggravated.

Like this, it’s hard to reach anything. Also, Stiles doesn’t want to tip the scale. “Fine,” he mutters turning away. Just because he backs away doesn’t mean he isn’t pissed, too. After all, he is only trying to help.

“I don’t know-“ Theo curls his fingers around Stiles’ wrist, tight but not forceful. “I don’t know how to forgive myself.”

That’s a good point. For the most part of his life, Stiles believed that he is the reason his mother died. It gave him nightmares, panic attacks, it damaged him and it was surfacing three times additionally to haunting his dreams. Once by the wolfsbane Lydia had given them, then after he had read Valack’s book and the last time Dain had tried to break his control by using this very knowledge. He never told anyone about it, and he’d rather nobody had heard about it either. But if he had told someone, if he hadn’t been so afraid of admitting that he feels guilty, then perhaps someone could’ve told him something important. “You were eight years old,” Stiles says sitting down beside Theo, “The Dread Doctors used you because of your mindset back then; you were angry, alone. It wasn’t your fault.” Theo doesn’t respond to that and Stiles doesn’t push him. It might be enough to help him, it might do nothing. Stiles isn’t quite sure if those few words would have affected himself. He wouldn’t know if those words could have changed anything. But he at least needed to try.

As Stiles wants to get up again, Theo pulls him back and presses their lips together. It’s starts out almost innocent, with nothing more than a string of pecks and almost no touching aside from Theo’s fingers around his wrist and their lips meeting occasionally. But like he said himself, Theo is bad at rehabilitation, bad at controlling himself around Stiles. And that’s fine, it’s okay because honestly, that’s something they seem to have in common. That doesn’t mean Stiles can allow himself to give in whenever he wants to.

And this isn’t the best time to do anything. So, Stiles stops as Theo attempts to hoist him onto his lap. “Not now. Not here.”

Groaning, Theo falls onto his back. But he doesn’t let go of him completely. Instead he is tracing the edge of Stiles’ compress with his thumb. “How is your side?” Their relationship has shifted drastically since last night – more than he would have expected to be possible. They are more intimate with each other, easier around each other. The walls are breaking down, that’s why Theo told him the truth, that’s why Stiles can’t ignore his nightmares anymore. Whatever this is between them, it feels as natural as it’s scary and it is evolving fast. He needs to remember to be hesitant. Theo is still Theo.

“Fine.” Stiles turns around. “But my shoulder throbs.”

Theo raises a brow. “Want me to take your pain?” He sits up again and presses a hand to Stiles’ neck before he can agree to anything. Having your pain leached is a feeling he will never get used to, that’s for sure. It's an intrusion, a thief taking away something personal; no matter how ugly the chosen theft, it is still Stiles’.

“Come on.” Stiles gets to his feet pulling away from the touch, “Get dressed. We need to wake Mason and Liam, take them to school and then go update my dad.”

Theo scrunches up his nose. “Do we have to do it in person?”

Stiles raises his brows. “Scared?”

“Worried,” Theo admits but he takes Stiles’ offered hands and pulls him in as soon as he is standing. Humming, he kisses him again. It’s so fucking distracting when he does that. “What do I get out of it?” He asks pushing his hands in the pockets of Stiles' jeans.

Stiles leans back far enough to look at him properly. “Courage,” he replies then decidedly, “and maybe a treat.”

“What treat?” Theo smirks, nipping at his jaw.

“Depends on what you like,” Stiles replies easily, “But I heard a lot of good things about Greenies.”

Theo shoves him away.

 

“Is there any particular reason he’s a wolf?” His dad raises his brows.

Stiles rolls his eyes, watching as Theo strolls through the Sheriff’s office, away from the window he just jumped through. Of course, Stiles knows very well why Theo decided to join him in full shift. He’s worried he says something that might hint at their relationship – and after the awkward pack dinner, it’s better that way. “It’s Theo,” Stiles answers belatedly, “We can be lucky he isn’t plotting to fuck shit up.”

Theo looks at him, head slightly tilted to the left.

“I’ve never seen any of the others shift,” John says leaning against his desk with raised brows. He takes not trusting Theo to a whole new level. Things that would have impressed his dad otherwise are now a reason for even more bad faith.

Stiles sighs. “Because they can’t. Well, aside from Malia, who shifted as a nine-year-old girl, almost ate her family, shifted back and then kind of lost the control over it but-” Theo bumps against Stiles’ leg, stopping him in his ramblings.

“But he does?” John probably thinks about all the shit Theo could do below the radar if he does it while fully transformed. Stiles doesn’t even want to think about how much that must stress him right now.

“No, not at all.” The sarcasm is the wrong approach but _really_ , how could he resist such an idiotic question? It’s not like Stiles got himself a wolf from the woods, tamed it and took it to his father under the premise of tricking him into believing it’s Theo.

John raises a brow. “I thought he’s an artificial wolf.”

It would help if his father actually read the information Stiles is giving him. It’s not like he and Lydia translate the bestiary because they don’t have anything better to do with their spare time. They’ve even written a chapter about chimeras on their own. Granted, there are a few question marks here and there but the most things are explained. “A chimera, Dad,” he says. Theo sits down beside him scrutinizing the Sheriff with a look that’s pretty judgemental, especially coming from a wolf. How dare he not know everything about his species? Of course, Theo would be personally offended just because his dad is too lazy to read. “A supernatural creature made from at least two sets of DNAs. In his case, werewolf and werecoyote.” Also, his sister but Stiles is not going to mention that. He doubts it'll might help his cause. “The ability to shift is naturally latent for werecoyotes. It’s harder for werewolves, though. Most won’t shift fully once in their life.”

“But they don’t react to mountain ash.”

“No.”

“Why?”

Stiles can hardly suppress the urge to roll his eyes. “Because they’ve been never turned. They are artificial.”

“But doesn’t that make them stronger than the real deal?” His father looks a little like the first time Stiles introduced him to the concept of the supernatural, irritated and done with the topic. It’s a lot to take in, he has to admit that.

Stiles shrugs. “I guess? I mean, I don’t know. There is quite a few things we don’t know about chimeras.”

“You have a chimera literally _sitting beside you_.”

“Yeah, well-“ Stiles looks down at Theo, who scratches the back of his ear. “He isn’t the most informative when it comes to his own weaknesses.” Unless it involves everything Stiles, then he is happy to tell at least him all about it. Because _why not_.

Theo, who is either satisfied with the explanation or bored, gets to his feet again. Huffing, he hops onto the couch near the door and lays down, closing his eyes. Although Theo has fallen asleep again after the talk with Lydia, it probably wasn’t all too deep. He must’ve noticed Stiles rummaging at his side and made abundantly clear that standing up wasn’t part of the deal. After Stiles fetched the bestiary, Theo curled his arms around his waist and kept him in place. If that is any indication of what’s to come, Stiles can be sure that the possessive behaviour isn’t going to tone down just because he got what he wanted.  

“Does he understand what we are saying?” His dad asks suddenly.

Stiles frowns. “He’s got human cognition in this form, yeah.”

“Then tell him the couch is for humans not mongrels.”

Theo growls lowly. Stiles raises a hand and he stops immediately, following the order to leave the couch. On silent feet, he jumps to the floor again. At least he seems to listen better than before. Stiles isn’t sure it’s because he is where he wanted to be or because he finally realized that his stay cannot be prolonged simply because he is screwing around with the alpha. _The alpha._ God, he hates that word. He really, really does. Especially since it is tightly connected to him. His own words suddenly come back to him. _We need a real alpha_. Like that’s going to happen anytime soon. Choosing an alpha instinctively his ass. He doesn’t want strangers to come near his pack with a ten-foot pole and Liam is the only one who Stiles thinks can do the job out of the pack. Not now, much later - when he is older and more grown, calmer and in-control.

“If you keep pissing him off, he’s never going to learn how to be civil,” Stiles remarks eventually. Yeah, he really needs to think about that whole alpha-topic and stop putting it off.

His father brushes the comment aside and watches as Theo pushes between Stiles’ legs to sit down there. What is that supposed to be? Does he really think that will protect him from John Stilinski’s anger? It obviously doesn’t dispel the suspicion that nothing is going on between the two of them. If he decided to get shot in the face, that would be the way to go.  

“And while we’re at it,” his father continues as if Stiles never said anything, “tell him to stay the hell away from you.”

“What?” Stiles asks although he is acutely aware of what his father isn’t so unobtrusively hinting at.

John makes a dismissive gesture. “Oh, come on, Stiles. Just because I haven’t had a proper date in a while doesn’t mean I don’t notice what’s going on around me. And this kid?” He points at Theo, who cocks his head acting as if butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. “He’s the least subtle when it comes down to what exactly he wants from you.”

That answers his question from yesterday. Everybody knows. _Amazing_. Well, not everybody but two people who could give him a lot of shit about it. But while Lydia seems strangely into this weird thing they have, his father makes abundantly clear that there is nothing to be had with Theo Raeken that involves physical or emotional proximity. “Why does it matter what he wants?”

“Because I know you.”

Stiles squints at his father. “Thought I’m not gay.” Words from the past, oh how he missed thee. Everything keeps haunting him.

“No, you’re not,” John says although that doesn’t make any sense whatsoever, “But you have a certain _type_ you are attracted to.”

“A t _ype_.” Stiles echoes.

“Yes, Stiles. A type,” his father agrees crossly, “Strays, outcasts. People you think you can _fix_.”

Stiles clenches his hands into fists. “None of that is new information,” he says through clenched teeth. There is a lot more he can say but he is done defending Theo. Why bother? People only believe what they want to believe – and his father has always been someone who thinks that facts trump instincts. Sadly, Theo doesn’t offer a lot of evidence to make someone see that he wants to change.

“You think you can fix him?” John sounds perplexed, “You were the one who didn’t trust him in the first place.”

Stiles shrugs. Shit happened. Things changed. “What do you want me to say?”

“That you are 100% sure about him and his intentions,” his father replies pointing at Theo, “That I can be sure I won’t find you dead in a ditch one day because he manipulated you, too.”

“You can never be 100% be sure about anybody’s intention. You taught me that,Dad.” Why does he think Stiles is so paranoid? It comes from wanting to protect his friends. But it also comes from dealing with the Sheriff as a father. He has seen and heard far more things during his childhood most people don't see or hear in their whole life. But distrust aside, the second part of his statement, Stiles knew, won't happen. Neither would Theo be capable of manipulating him nor would he hurt him. He’s learned that now. Of course, he can hardly tell his father that he found that out because Theo let him bite his throat. John wouldn’t react well to this kind of information – and that’s not even all about Theo, it’s about what Theo represents as well. Stiles was out, he managed to get away mostly unharmed. Now he is back, smack in the middle of supernatural chaos. His father is aware what it means if Stiles were to begin a relationship with someone supernatural again. It’s a life full of danger, a life full of running and fighting and trying to survive every single day anew.

What parent wants that for their child?

Theo steps forward suddenly. Both Stilinskis look down at him with a raised brow. For a moment, he does nothing but look at John, almost as if he is assessing him and every possible outcome of whatever move he is thinking about doing. He then looks up at Stiles, flashing his eyes in a request for _something_ – and for some reason, Stiles knows exactly what this something will be. He nods and takes a couple steps back, watching as Theo lays down again. Ever so slowly, he rolls onto his back and bares his throat.

“What is he doing?” John asks irritated.

Stiles crosses his arms. “Asking for a chance,” he replies, “by being submissive to you.”

For a while, nobody moves and Stiles is about to break the whole thing up. Then his father crouches down and puts a hand on Theo’s throat. Theo doesn’t move a single muscle, awaiting the verdict patiently. “What you told me in regards of Donovan’s death,” John says eventually, “would you do it to protect my son? No matter what?”

Theo flashes his eyes immediately.

“Yes,” Stiles translates, “he would.” What exactly _did_ Theo tell his father happened at the library? The topic has never come up again after their problems were first worse and then solved. But whatever his words have been, they are his saving grace now.

“I don’t trust you,” his father continues, “but I trust my son. One slip up, Theo, only _one_ and you will rot in a cell." How can they all trust his instincts when he himself doubts his every single move? How is that even possible?

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Look at you two bonding.”

John straightens again shaking his head in disbelief. “I guess you didn’t come here to tell me that Theo decided to be a good boy.” Oh, the dog jokes.

“No,” Stiles replies trying to keep his own annoyance at the whole situation in check, “we’ve got updates.”

Theo stays where he is, watching silently as Stiles launches into the explanation of what Lydia has told him tonight as well as the theories he has come up with, while John is trying to look like he understands what he is told. He doesn’t but Stiles gives him an A for effort.

 

Sparring with a werewolf isn’t exactly a painless endeavour. They all are aware of that – and Stiles has punched a werewolf once or twice; he _knows_. His dad wasn’t all that helpful, probably because he doesn’t like Theo teaching his son how to fight. Not because he hates fighting but because it’s _Theo_ and only Liam watches them during their sparring session, who tried to catch up on sleep while Isaac was babysitting him. Parrish thought it a good idea, though, which he remarked without looking at a very unhappy John, and offered him his fingerless fighting gloves. They cushion most of the impact but not all of it, which is to be expected by hitting something _or someone_ with skin and bones as hard as a brick wall.

Stiles lowers his hands after Theo does the same. They have been going through the motions for a while now. Against all odds, Theo turned out to be a very patient teacher. He upped the tempo slowly, repeated every sequence as often as Stiles wanted and never got upset when he fucked up multiple times in a row. It seemed contradictory to his usually very pushy behaviourisms. Then again, it would explain why a group of everyday teenagers became a pack of extremely efficient fighters. Stiles really wonders what would’ve happened if it had come to a full blown fight between their packs – or rather if it had come to a fight between Scott’s pack and Theo, Tracy and Josh. Liam is exceptionally strong for a beta but he has been taught to suppress his anger whereas Theo taught Josh and Tracy to make proper use of their strengths. That could have been the crucial factor in this kind of scenario. Of course, the chimeras were still trying to find their footing as a pack, everyone tried to impress Theo for their very own reasons – but if they had worked, if they had actually managed to become a unit instead of a pack of lone fighters, Stiles is pretty sure nothing would’ve stood in their way they couldn’t have burned down.

What can he deduce from that?

Everything an alpha needs to be. While Theo had the whole teaching thing down, he lacked empathy. He needed his pack to be strong for himself and he let them fight a hell hound to prove their power. Even though he believed in them and their strength, aside from Tracy, nobody believed in themselves. But the exact opposite isn’t doing a pack any favours either. It’s good to know an alpha cares about you, it’s good to be in control – but without Derek, who did what had to be done more than once – they wouldn’t even have survived Peter’s rampage through town. Empathy is necessary, yet it shouldn’t stretch towards your enemies; especially if those are Deucalion or Gerard. Scott probably would’ve found a reason to spare Sebastian and the Dread Doctors.

Being an alpha means walking the high wire. It means being a leader and a friend, it means being strong for his pack and making his pack strong, it means being loved by those rallying behind him and feared by those who dare to oppose him. It means to put your pack above your own needs. It also means to be fair and reprimand those who act out. It means being the strongest member of the pack because if all else fails, he is the one to keep them alive. Right now, he is far from that. In fact, he comes in last together with Mason.

Unless he manages to get his shit together.

But the whole strong body, strong mind approach seems reasonable enough that it might actually be working out.

“When are you going to approach my dad as a human again?” Stiles asks catching the water bottle Theo throws him. Although it is very amusing to watch the otherwise cocky chimera to cower before a _puny human_ , it’s hardly something that can go on forever.

But Theo merely gives him a look. “When he stops thinking about shooting me pre-emptively.”

“To be fair-“

“I _know_ ,” Theo interrupts, “Stop milking that.”

“I will stop milking _that_ when more than a few months have passed,” Stiles notes with a raised brow. As Theo just rolls his eyes, Stiles counts it as a win. Smirking, he uncaps the bottle. It’s not like he hasn’t forgiven Theo just because he keeps mentioning he fucked up enormously. But Theo doesn’t need to think he has forgotten. He still remembers the betrayal and it will take a while until he can let Theo out of his sight without worrying too much about what he might do. Stiles isn’t one to forgive and forget. Of course, Theo’s betrayal doesn’t run as deep as Scott’s does - simply because Stiles didn’t expect anything else from him. That doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

As he lowers the bottle, he catches Theo staring. “What?”

“Nothing,” he replies shifting his weight a little.

Stiles squints at him.

Liam grunts unhelpfully from where he lays on his mattress on the floor. After a disastrous day leading up to a full moon, the night wasn’t any better for him. He complained that he never felt that much during a full moon night. Apparently, everything smelled like sex and that way he couldn’t get any sleep at all. Stiles still feels a little guilty about that. Because while Liam was thinking his wolf was just going crazy with hormones, Stiles knew it was Theo's fault – or rather Theo and his fault. Although he never wiped out the rune that blocked noise from the in and outside, he never added to the rune for scents that nothing from the outside would come inside. Stiles doesn’t know how much Liam was able to pick up on but it seemed to have been enough to drive him bonkers. It’s kind of embarrassing and better if Liam never finds out the truth about what really happened. It’s one of those things that would turn everything hella awkward – and Stiles doubts they could come back from this kind of embarrassing encounter. There is a point of too much information and then there is _that_.

Mr. Dunbar wasn’t exactly happy as Stiles called him this morning. But he explained that some full moons are worse than others – he let out the exact reason as to why this full moon was particularly horrible for Liam; parents don’t want this kind of information about their children any more than children want to know that about their parents – and Mr. Dunbar relented, promising to call the school. He also made sure Stiles knew that he will not tolerate Liam's grades dropping. Stiles promised him he needn’t worry about his son’s scholastic achievements. He helped a girl through Junior and Senior year that barely remembered how to hold a pen, as well as he and Lydia have managed to help Scott keeping his grade up in AP Biology. Liam shouldn’t be a problem at all.

“Can we maybe continue?” Theo asks, “I'd like to think we achieved some form of progress until we have to pick up Mason.” Well, someone is passive aggressive today.

Stiles throws him the bottle, not at all aiming at his head. “Asshole,” he mutters frowning as Theo catches it with ease,” What do you want to do next?”

Theo gives him a look. If he keeps being that obvious they can start making out in front of Liam. Seriously, he doesn’t need supersenses to pick up on what Theo’s answer to that question would be if he had the choice. Alas, they have a groggy teen wolf watching their sparring session – or not so much watching as blinking up at them then and again.

Liam shuffles around on the mattress. “Does the full moon still affect you?” He gives Theo a look of commiseration. That poor, innocent soul. If he knew the reason for his horrible and draining night, he wouldn’t take pity on Theo. Sometimes Stiles envies him for his naivety. Liam doesn’t even realize what’s right in front of him.

Theo unscrews the cap again and takes a sip. “No, why?” He doesn’t look entirely like he knows where Liam is coming from. Which is very amusing.

“I don’t know,” Liam replies sitting up, “you still reek like-“

Without batting an eye, Theo dumps the contents of the water bottle over Liam’s head.

“ _Hey_ ,” Liam complains brushing his wet hair and water out of his face, “what the hell was that for?” Looking like a drowned rat, his glare doesn’t seem all that effective.

Theo drops the bottle onto his head, too, which Liam slaps away in annoyance. Stiles’ warning glance is noted but thoroughly ignored. “For throwing your shoe in my face this morning.” _Right_. While that is being true – Liam, in fact, did throw a shoe at Theo – they both know this retaliation hasn’t anything to do with it.

Liam bristles. “Because you barged into my room, although you knew I was- I was-“ Stiles prefers he does not go into too much detail about what exactly he has been doing as Theo went into his room to wake him up. The latter came down in a spleen complaining that he didn’t sign up for this bullshit. Stiles told him to man up and how he should have thought about it before having a hard-on for the alpha. Also, he felt it. And it’s still horribly embarrassing. “If my mattress is still wet tonight, I swear-,” Liam threatens eventually.

“Stop whining,” Theo interrupts curtly.

“You'll get Theo’s then,” Stiles says, “And Theo’ll take yours.”

Victoriously, Liam jumps to his feet. For a second, Stiles expected him to stick his tongue out to Theo like a little child. He didn't, thankfully, but runs upstairs to dry off and get some new clothes. At least the unexpected shower has woken him up more than any sleep seemed to have done. Although Stiles doubts Isaac has let him sleep while watching him. He isn't better at doing nothing than Stiles is.

“I’m not sleeping on a wet mattress.”

“You should’ve thought about that before you drenched Liam,” Stiles remarks with a raised brow. “Action and reaction, Theo.”

The chimera bares his teeth for a second, then he inclines his head, clearly listening for what’s going on upstairs. The second his attention is back on Stiles, he knows that he’s just been waiting for Liam to be busy with something. Theo crosses the distance between them with two large steps, then yanks Stiles close for a kiss. “Your fault,” he mutters after his first hunger is seated and Stiles struggles to regain proper breathing, _holy_ \- “You and your fucking-“ Theo doesn’t go into detail what exactly got him all hot and bothered which is kind of unhelpful. Because Theo needs to get this sex drive in check before Lydia and Kira are back in the loft. No matter how flattering it is that he is jumped at any given second, he’d rather Theo doesn’t act like an animal on heat.

“I was just _drinking_ ,” Stiles mutters and gathers his strength to push Theo away. Not only that Liam can come down any given moment, they don’t need to _add_ to the scent. The poor kid suffered enough tonight.

Theo gives him a look. You know, the kind of look that manages to turn your knees into gum and your brain into that funny place that should be working but doesn’t. It’s terrible timing; _really_ terrible timing. “You have no idea how much I wanted to bite your neck last night,” Theo whispers so low Stiles barely catches his words, “It drove me insane that I couldn’t.” Couldn’t because everyone would have been able to see? Or couldn’t as in Stiles’ is the alpha and therefore his throat is off-limits for the real kind of biting?

He pushes the questions aside for another revelation. “You bit me _intentionally_ ,” Stiles breathes. He is unsure what he thinks about it, honestly. Some part of him is really thrilled about that marking, another part is extremely unsure about it because he has no idea what that means. Malia marked him up as well. She didn’t bite him, though, but the scratches on his back have been markings enough. She was at that point very close to her animal. Theo never struck him as the type who is close to either his wolf or his coyote. Still, what happened last night and this morning at the police department, it seems like he might be – artificial or not.

Theo leans in again. Stiles grabs his chin to stop him. This topic isn’t over yet; something Theo notices. Groaning, he pulls free of Stiles’ grasp but doesn’t step away. “I can hardly pee over your pee.”

“ _What_?”

“The alpha pair usually-“

“We’re not the alpha pair,” Stiles cuts him short, voice a little higher pitched than he would have preferred, “We’re not even a _pair_.”

Theo gives him another look; one Stiles can’t read. But some weird feeling pops up in the back of his own emotions – one that vanishes before he is able to decode it. “Right,” Theo mutters rolling his eyes, “It’s called marking. Usually, wolves do that by mixing the scents of their urine.” Well, that information killed the sexiness in the situation; which is good. And it’s not that he doesn’t _know_ about the mating behaviour of wolves but he very much ignored that – or never connected it to werewolf behaviour. “Werewolves and their cousins needed to find an alternative to mark property.”

“Partners,” Stiles corrects him with a raised brow, “not property.”

Theo scrutinises him for a second. “Right,” he says again nodding slowly, almost as if he needs to mull over the term like it’s new vocabulary in a foreign language. “Partners.” They have a lot more to work on than Stiles first anticipated. How much have the Dread Doctors screwed with his head exactly? There is enough evidence that it’s _a lot_. Still, right now it reaches completely new dimensions.

But now isn’t really the time for such an in-depth talk. “So, you resulted to biting.”

“Biting, scratching- whatever the species prefers.” Theo shrugs because _of course_ he thinks it’s perfectly normal. "Others instinctively scent that someone is off-limits.”

Stiles freezes, eyes widening. “That means Liam and Isaac _know_.”

“They don’t,” Theo replies and steps away, head slightly tilted to the side to look at the stairs. “Your rune prevents that.” _Thank god_. Otherwise that would be very uncool. He really, _really_ doesn’t want anybody to find out about whatever they have until he has the chance to sort this clusterfuck out himself. Also, they needed something like common ground. Because Theo’s obsession isn’t exactly the best basis for any kind of relationship. Neither is Stiles exploiting said obsession for his very own advantage.

Liam comes down with the elegance of a hobbling elephant. “I have not enough clothes for this shit,” he announces bugged. “We need to do laundry.”

Theo rolls his eyes.

“Tomorrow,” Stiles says, “Now, Theo. Let’s continue.”

More awake, Liam flops onto the mattress again. He watches attentively as Theo and Stiles get in position again.

“I’m going to attack you,” Theo explains raising his hands, “Defend yourself.” That isn’t much to go on. Yet, it is probably a good decision to train Stiles’ muscles to remember how to defend himself first. It doesn’t help him at all knowing how to perform an effective attack if the first counterattack will knock him right out. “And don’t worry,” Theo adds with a smirk, “I’m not going to hit that hard.”

“Funny,” Stiles retorts.

Theo waits until Stiles nods. His first attack goes straight for his face. Since he aims pretty high, Stiles doesn’t bother blocking it. Instead he ducks down early enough that Theo’s hand flies over his head. But Theo is quick to adapt and doesn’t exactly try to make it feel or look like a training’s session. He aims for his throat before Stiles is able to recover from the first attack – and he hits home, grip tight and unrelenting. He looks more than amused while Stiles is fighting down frustration. Going through the motions has been annoying enough but seeing how terrible he is at realising the learned moves is even worse.

“Your mistake?”

Stiles clenches his jaw. “I lowered my hands.”

“Correct.” Theo lets go of his throat moving back into position. “But the dodging was a good decision. Portion your strength, you’ll need it against a werewolf.” Stiles nods. Fighting isn’t only about strength. It’s about speed, about planning, thinking – instincts. He is good at the last portion. Speed and strength? Not so much. “Always go for a counter if you have the chance.”

Stiles nods again, waiting, watching. It takes some time until he instinctively remembers to keep one hand up to block any attacks to his face. Part of the reason is that Theo constantly barks a reminder. He’s done it often enough that Stiles hears him as soon as both hands are away from his face, although Theo hasn’t said anything. It’s a success for now but Stiles has to remember that in an actual fight. Then he can be proud of himself, and no sooner than that. As for right now, he might be successful at blocking the attacks but he never found an opening – and Theo doesn’t make it particularly easy either. He moves fast, not as fast as he probably could but still quick enough that Stiles barely keeps up with his movements. It is only a matter of time until Theo will be just that little bit quicker than him.

But instead of increasing his tempo, Theo doesn’t move for another attack after it's blocked. Instead, he pushes against Stiles’ arm – trying to force him to fight back or get hit. He starts with little to no force, then adds to it bit by bit. “Do something,” Theo orders, “You’re not going to win.” He knows. He fucking _knows_. Neither widening his stance nor turning his upper body provides him with more strength. His muscles start to shake with the effort.

“You’re fighting a losing battle,” Theo says without the smallest bit of strain in his voice. This is nothing for him while Stiles is pushing up and over his limits. But he doesn’t stop. That’s the point of this exercise, isn’t it? So, he pushes and he keeps pushing. Even as it feels like he can’t anymore. Even as the pain in his head increases; and especially that is what keeps him going. It is an indicator that he does something right. He is triggering something. He is _doing_ something.

Theo pulls suddenly away. Stiles loses his balance at the loss. Before he can faceplant, Theo catches him around the waist and pulls him upright.

“What the _hell_?”

“Your nose,” Theo says, “It’s bleeding.”

“It’s not bleeding,” Liam remarks jumping to his feet. “That’s some weird black shit.”

Stiles wipes the liquid from under his nose. He didn’t imagine it yesterday then. His blood was darker than usual. Maybe Peter had already damaged the barrier in his head. Maybe he really could force it, could break it like that. He watches the smear of what looks like black ink run down the side of his thumb. It doesn’t create the nemeton's roots this time.

 

Lydia joins him on the balcony with a small smile. Is it weird that he missed her although she has only been away for almost two days? “We decided on a movie,” she says although that’s not why she came out. She’s got that look on her face that tells him they’ll have a serious talk in the exceptionally near future.

“Which one?” Stiles turns to watch the pack shuffle around inside. They are setting everything up in front of the TV. Even Theo helps although he doesn’t seem particularly enthusiastic.

Lydia smirks. “Perks of being a Wallflower.”

“You decided on the movie, then.”

“Kira and I did,” she replies smiling. Kira and she get along very well. It’s not the kind of friendship she had with Allison but no two friendships can be the same, right? There will never be something like Stiles and she have either. That’s probably why there are friends, best friends and those friends that are your extended family; and then there are soulmates, something Stiles always connected with a romantic aspect – until Lydia and he became friends. He doesn’t know when he realised but he wonders if Lydia thinks the same about them.

Stiles rubs a hand over his eyes. “What did Liam want?” He wonders aloud because as Stiles worked on his essay, Liam was asking Lydia if they could maybe talk. It was weird seeing him approaching her and Stiles suspected it had something to do with the black blood. He wanted to tell her and Kira tomorrow. Tonight, they needed to take the chance for a break because things are looking up for them. Annabelle decided to confront her cousins, so that maybe Stiles will lose at least one target on his back. He wants to relinquish the relaxed atmosphere before he destroys it again. That isn’t too much to ask, is it?

“He’s scared,” she says quietly. Stiles may be the alpha but she is the heart of the group, even if she doesn’t know it yet.

“We’ve all got targets on our backs,” he replies. It’s not that he wants to diminish Liam's fears. It’s more because Stiles tries to say that he is afraid, too, and that he understands.

Lydia squeezes his arm. “That’s nothing new,” she says, “But he’s scared what happens when it’s over. I don’t think he wants us to go.” That’s why Liam always watches him with a frown when he is working on his essay. That might even be the reason Liam was so agitated during his French homework.

Stiles licks his lips. “We have to, eventually.” They’re college students. They are enrolled in Stanford. They don’t live here anymore.

“Do we?” Lydia asks and Stiles squints at her. She was excited to leave when they first got the chance. Now she wants to stay? “Kira and I were joking around on our flight,” she explains turning around to look into the distance, “She said the world needs something like a police department for the supernatural. I told her we should probably set it up in Beacon Hills, since it’s the beacon for everything screwed up – and things started to evolve from there.”

Stiles isn’t quite sure where she is coming from suddenly. Not that he doesn’t get her point. But they were out. “Huh,” he says because he doesn’t know what else to say.

“Just- just think about it.” Lydia doesn’t ask for much. When she does, though, Stiles knows it’s serious business.

“I don’t want to abandon my studies.”

Lydia gives him a look. “Me neither. But there is always distance learning.” She seems to be more than a little serious.

“You really think about doing it?”

“Not without you.” She grabs his hand, squeezes it.

Stiles returns the gesture. “I don’t know, Lydia.” They were out. They can be out again, right? Or is this just something else Stiles tries to pretend? Maybe they can never be out. Maybe it was just another break the supernatural world allowed them. What did Deaton call it? Regression to the mean. Living in Palo Alto hasn’t been fantastic but it hasn’t been bad either. It has been good. The scale has been in the middle of things; and a scale like that always tips one way or the other – just as much as it comes back to the average after a while.

“I don’t want to push you. But everyone is _here_. Liam and Mason are in High School, Theo has to repeat Senior Year, Isaac is going to stay with Jordan,” she explains quietly. “We could get a proper flat, make it supernatural prove so you and Theo could have a little privacy…”

Stiles pretends he didn't hear the last part. “You’ve given a lot of thought into that, huh?”

Lydia shrugs. “We had a delayed four-hour flight.”

“And you couldn’t just read or study?” Stiles jokes but it’s a half-hearted attempt to give himself more time. Lydia knows. “I’ll think about it.”

She seems content with the answer because they stand there in silence for a while. Lydia has her back to the loft watching the sun set in the distance. He wonders what she is thinking about but doesn’t ask. Sometimes, they have this silence between them. A comfortable silence in which the only thing they need is each other's propinquity. Stiles absently caresses the back of her hand with his thumb while watching the pack. Isaac is making popcorn with Kira. The two of them are comfortable with and around each other. Theo is crouching down near Liam's still slightly wet mattress saying something which causes Liam to throw a pillow at him. Mason is laughing hard enough that he flops to the ground, holding his stomach.

They work. In some mysterious way, they really work as a pack.

Lydia turns around eventually, never letting go of his hand. Stiles wonders if she is scared as well. They never really talked about it. But right now, he likes to pretend that she isn’t because that keeps his own fear at bay. He leans on her and she leans on him. They lean on each other. It’s what they do to survive in a world like this. 

“So, you and Theo?” Lydia asks finally.

Stiles has been waiting for that question since she and Kira came back two hours ago. “Theo and I what?”

“What changed?”

Stiles doesn’t know if he is ready to answer that question; or if he knows how to answer that question in the first place. “Well, for starters, I guess I’m not a virgin anymore,” he replies because going the slightly sarcastic way is easier than being honest.

But Lydia rarely takes his shit. Especially if she thinks the situation is serious. “That’s not what I meant.”

“I don’t know,” he admits, “It’s complicated.”

Lydia gives him another look. “That’s a Facebook status not a proper term for a relationship.”

Stiles sighs. “Well-“ He still doesn’t know how to explain properly what’s going on inside his head, much less what’s going on between Theo and him.

“Well?” Lydia squeezes his hand again.

Stiles shrugs feeling kind of helpless. As it seems, he doesn’t have all the answers although he likes to pretend he does. “I guess my dad was right,” he says after a moment of silence. “I do have a certain type.”

Lydia laughs quietly. Strangely enough, it fits the situation although Stiles is a long way from feeling like laughing. “At least he knows how to human.”

Stiles turns away from the loft, in which Kira is watching Mason laughing, Liam and Theo are still bickering over something or other and Isaac is rolling his eyes at them. With a sigh, Stiles pulls his shirt down enough that the bite on his shoulder is visible.

“Oh my-“ Lydia leans in to inspect it closer. The skin around it will still be red and angry for quite some time, other than that, it has partly healed. “Did he do that?”

Stiles ignores the obvious chance for another sarcastic remark. “He said it’s to show others that their partners are off-limits,” he says. But already as he hears those words falling from his lips, he wonders why he makes Theo sound better than he is. “Actually, no,” he corrects because he needs to hear from _someone_ that he isn’t overreacting, “he said it's to mark property.”

Lydia draws her eyebrows in. “He’s got it bad for you,” she says but the edge of uncertainty can’t be hidden. She isn’t too sure about his behaviour either.

Stiles rolls his eyes. “That’s one way to say it.”

“He needs this,” Lydia remarks proving once more that she keeps her good heart hidden only so she wouldn’t get hurt again. “He needs you.”

Stiles hates that she might be just right with this statement; and that leads to something entirely else – something that he prevented from surfacing before but that has always been at the back of his mind. “I wonder what would’ve happened if I hadn’t left him when we were kids.” Perhaps Theo would have had a normal life. Perhaps everything that had happened since the Dread Doctors and he marched into town could have been prevented. Perhaps now, Stiles wouldn’t be thinking that it is alright if he acts as a punching bag for Theo’s emotional outbursts.

“Don’t go there,” Lydia whispers. She sounds almost scared for him. “It’s not going to do you any good.”

Stiles wants to tell her that he’s already gone down the road. “Maybe I owe him.”

Lydia looks like she knows it’s too late. “It’s not your fault,” she persists but for a boy who has beaten himself up over his mother’s death, those words don’t do much. Blaming himself is what he knows how to do; it is what he does best. Ironically, it’s exactly what he told Theo to stop doing just this morning.

“I don’t know,” he says because it’s true. It feels like he hasn’t been this honest in a long time. “He was never good at making friends as a kid.” Talking about Theo as he used to be feels weird; it also feels as if he is telling stories about a boy who died. And maybe that is true. “He was smart, like, you smart but different. He was smart because his parents wanted him to be smart. And he had asthma, not as bad as Scott, though. He was quiet and frightened of everything. Also, really terrible at sports.” There is a smile tugging at his lips, faint and small but it’s there.

Lydia smiles, too. “Our Theo?” She sounds surprised.

“Yeah.”

“I never knew that.” She didn’t know him. She didn’t know anybody out of her current pack even existed. Young Lydia was a terrible Lydia. But that Lydia was dead, too. That’s okay, he likes his Lydia better.

“I think I was his first and only real friend,” Stiles continues quietly, “and then Scott kind of confiscated me. I tried to involve Theo but Scott always found a way around it. Theo and I only met at Little League and at school.” Looking back at it, Stiles realizes, that he watched how Theo was dying right in front of him. He watched him die like he watched his mother die, numb and unable to do something about it. “Maybe I should’ve seen, I don’t know, _something_.”

Lydia shakes her head. “You were- what? Seven, eight?”

“Seven.”

“You couldn’t have known.” That doesn’t mean he _shouldn’t_ have seen something.

Stiles squeezes her hand again. “After his sister died, Scott felt sorry. But I guess it was kind of too late then.” It was. Now, he knows that it was far too late by then. “Theo was angry all the time. Got into trouble in Little League. He was the same towards me but not really, you know?” He looked at Stiles differently sometimes, and it was like maybe he had known that the Theo he had wanted to befriend had been gone. “I thought he was grieving but he had already fallen down the rabbit hole.” He shakes his head. “I don’t want to excuse anything he has done. I’m just trying to- to understand what happened, I guess.” Because nothing can excuse the things he did, not really – and they both know that. But that doesn’t mean there isn’t a road to redemption for Theo.

“If anyone can fix him, it’s you,” Lydia says. She sounds so sure about it, about him. Again, everyone is trusting him and his instincts and abilities while he is just watching from the distance, squinting at his own thoughts.

Stiles doesn’t understand why that is the case. “You don’t know that.”

“It’s what you do,” she whispers, “You fix people. You fixed me.”

“There wasn’t much _to_ fix.”

Lydia is quiet for a while. “There was,” she admits then. Stiles knows. He has been with her while she was evolving right in front of him. But he never thought it was because of him. “Without you, I wouldn’t be the person I am today.”

“Peter played a huge part in that, too,” he replies, “And Allison.”

“I’m trying to say thank you, you emotionally constipated-“

Stiles doesn’t know how to respond to people saying thank you. “You’re welcome.”


	19. Of Stars and Stardust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. But the Easter Holidays kind of rolled over me. I completely forget them every single time and then I'm kind of: Well, shit. I don't have time to do sh*t over the weekend. Amazing. 
> 
> So, Happy Easter! <3

Stiles woke up early from sleep because of many reasons; nightmares, ADHD and an unhealthy sleeping schedule are only few of those reasons. But he has never woken up because a particular warmth has vanished from his back. After watching the movie last night, the pack kept talking about everything and nothing. It was Liam, who fell asleep first. Then Kira, then Mason, then Theo. Isaac, Lydia and Stiles decided not to wake them. That way, they all ended up huddled together on not enough mattresses and little to no space. It was fine. They managed to fall asleep. Although it took Stiles quite some time, he, too, fell asleep with Theo more or less curled up at his back and Lydia in front of him.

It is Theo who is missing now, and Stiles is acutely aware of that. Or not so much missing as rolled away from him, which is weird. They don’t have enough space for everyone to have space. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, he sits up. Lydia is stirring slightly at the sudden movement but she doesn’t wake. Theo’s breathing is even, no sign of a nightmare in sight. Mason lays with his legs sprawled over Isaac, who is sleeping on his back soundlessly. Kira is curled into a ball between Mason and Lydia, still fast asleep too.

Liam is gone.

Stiles looks around the room in confusion. It’s the middle of the night – where the hell is he? It’s not like he could leave with the mountain ash surrounding the loft. Maybe he’s just gone to the bathroom? But then he spots him outside the loft on the balcony; he stands there slumped over the railing. A picture of misery. That looks like Stiles has to do more talking. At least if Liam wants to talk.

He tries to get to his feet, attempting not to disturb someone but Theo turns suddenly, as if startled by the movement. “Where’re you goin’?” He mutters voice heavy with sleep.

“Something’s up with Liam,” he whispers.

Theo frowns. “So, what?”

“I’ve gotta talk to him.”

“ _Now_?”

“Just sleep,” Stiles whispers, “It won’t take long.”

He feels Theo’s eyes on him as he scrambles to his feet and moves to the balcony. As he glances over his shoulder, the chimera has gotten up, too, and wanders to the kitchenette. Stiles wonders if he stays awake because he is worried that nightmares will haunt him now. It’s weird, thinking that Stiles seems to be some form of an anchor for Theo, who claimed that he doesn’t need something like that. But that’s a thought for another time.

As quiet as possible, Stiles pushes the door to the balcony open. Surprisingly quick, this became the place where everything important seems to happen; a place where the truth spilled out.

“How mad are you at me?”

Liam turns around with wide eyes. “I’m not mad.”

Stiles squints at him.

“No, really,” Liam insists, “I’m not mad.”

“But?”

Liam glances at him over his shoulder. There is a frown on his face that isn’t really a frown but could be if he tried. “Nothing.”

Stiles sighs audibly. “Liam,” he begins although he’s not too sure what exactly he wants to say. Comforting others has always been kind of hard for him. Especially with words. But that’s something he has to learn now. “All I want is for the pack to feel good, to be safe. I can’t do that if you’re keeping shit from me.” Liam winces slightly at the wording. “Lydia told me you’re scared about us leaving again,” Stiles adds quietly.

Liam drops his head onto his hands. “It’s just- I don’t know, I mean-,” he struggles for words and is silent for a few moments. Stiles lets him think. If they talk this out, he wants to know everything going on in Liam’s head; and eventually he turns to look at him. “That night you chained me to a tree. You were trying so hard to keep the pack together while Scott was just kinda sitting there laughing at you.” Right, he heard everything they’ve talked about. Funny, that he’d never mentioned anything beforehand. But maybe he thought it wasn’t any of his business. “And I thought- why is he alpha? And then I thought, well, he’s alpha because he’s a good guy. But things started to fall apart, Scott did things good guys wouldn’t usually resort to and then you and Lydia _left_.” Liam stops there looking as if the memory of their leaving is painful for him. “And I thought, maybe trying to be a good guy isn’t enough to be a good alpha.” He shrugs, almost uncertain. “Now you’re back and I see what a pack can be like. I always thought it’s like, close friends and shit, but it’s not. We’re this weird and messy family- I don’t want to lose this again.”

Stiles hesitates for a moment, then berates himself to stop being an idiot. “We’re still going to be a pack,” he promises and puts a hand on Liam’s shoulder. He doesn’t squeeze, he doesn’t do anything like putting pressure on the touch. It’s more a reassurance; _I’m here_ , _I will be here for you._ It was a gesture that kept Derek from breaking after Boyd's death. Maybe it gives Liam enough to believe him.

“Are we?”

Stiles nods. “It’s not that long of a drive, if you think about it. Three hours, tops.”

Liam is quiet for a moment. “Lydia says she is thinking about staying.”

“Yeah, she told me.”

“So?”

Stiles smiles. “I said, I’ll think about it. And I do- I will.” And that’s all he can say for now, all he can give him for now.

Liam squints at him. “But?”

Stiles pulls his hands back. Closing his eyes, he crosses his arms and props against the railing. “I’m not a good alpha, Liam,” he replies as honest as possible. Because honesty is what Liam needs right now. “But I know I will have to be. Especially if I stay – and frankly, that scares the shit out of me.” He runs a hand through his dishevelled hair, frowning. “I’ll be nineteen in a month, _nineteen_. I’m something I don’t understand, something that has a thousand exceptions to the rules and on top of that I’m not even supposed to _be_ alpha.” He glances at Liam, then looks back in the distance. “My place is as the emissary. I’m not even a _wolf_. I’m alpha until there is someone I choose for the place.”

Liam raises a brow. “You’re the most distrusting person on this planet, you’ll never find someone for the job.”  

“Do you think I don’t know that?”

“You’ll be a good alpha. I mean it,” he insists as Stiles squints at him. “You’re honest, you don’t take anything for granted. You don’t lose faith in us just because someone shady says something you don’t like… the way Scott did with you or Kira.”

“Scott isn’t a terrible person.”

Liam scoffs. “Stop defending him. He did shitty things, a lot of them, and he put his girlfriend over you.”

Stiles laughs quietly although the whole situation isn’t that funny. Or maybe it is. Why would someone think he’s a proper choice for an alpha? “That’s how it is when teenagers are in love. You should know that,” he replies.

Liam shakes his head. “You’re not.”

“Guess, I’ve never been that into Malia _and_ I wasn’t alpha then.” Stiles shrugs. He cared about Malia, and to some extend he still does. Their relationship will never be the same again, they probably won’t even be anything close to friends after the blatant disregard of the decisions he made about the pack. But that doesn’t mean he would be emotionally numb if something were to happen to her. Same goes for Scott.

Liam inclines his head slightly. “I’m not talking about Malia.”

Stiles frowns. “What do you mean?” They all know that Lydia and his relationship is strictly platonic. Then it hits him. “Isaac and I-“

“Mason saw Theo kiss you, last night, on the balcony,” Liam interrupts him. _Oh my god_. Stiles is so used to being surrounded by supernatural creatures that he completely ignored the fact that Mason can roam the loft completely unfazed. The fucking full moon and all those goddamn emotions drove him almost out of his mind. How could he forget about Mason? “He’s been going on about the two of you since you’re back in town, y’know; and he’s got this really freaky sixth sense for stuff like that.” Liam continues obviously not noticing the shock vibrating in Stiles’ bones. “He always said that you look at each other differently; ‘specially Theo and that that’s not normal for allies and stuff.”

“Oh,” Stiles mutter into the short silence Liam offers him. How much did Mason see? He just saw them kissing and ran up the stairs like a little kid to snitch, right? Oh god. _Oh god_.

Liam nudges his shoulder. “It doesn’t really matter to me,” he says and sounds so genuine that Stiles feels like he can breathe again. “And what I’m trying to say is that you don’t put him above us. Like, you’re not forgetting you have a responsibility – and you give him shit for what he did. You talk to us but you also listen to what we have to say. You don’t ignore things.” Does he? Does he _really_?  

“I don’t know-“ Because he blatantly ignores how wrong it is to let himself be reduced to Theo’s punching bag so nobody else would be on the other end. He shouldn’t. He _shouldn’t_. Theo stopping before it is too late is no excuse for anything. And yet- he does when his job is to tell Theo to fuck off. That needs to change. Step one on his road to become a better alpha.

Liam puts a hand on his shoulder. “I’m trying to say that you can be a great alpha.”

“I’ll make mistakes,” Stiles insists.  

“Who doesn’t?” Liam makes that sound so easy. But he obviously doesn’t remember that a mistake Stiles makes can easily end in everyone’s demise. “That’s normal- but I know you’d be honest about it.” Yeah, he wouldn’t exactly shove it in anybody’s face to make himself look better. _You trusted him, too_. No. No, he didn't and even now he forces himself to stay apprehensive because he is dealing with Theo.

Stiles shakes his head. “Don’t put me on a pedestal. I’m not a good guy.”

Liam more or less forces Stiles to turn around and look him properly in the eye. “You’re a good person,” he replies putting both hands on Stiles’ shoulder when he was the one who should be comforted. “It’s okay to be an asshole. You said Derek was kind of an asshole, too. You also said that he was a good alpha.”

Stiles can feel a smile tug on his lips. “In his very own way.” Derek made mistakes, too.

“I think, once you’ll stop being afraid of yourself, you see what I mean,” Liam says confidently.  

Stiles barks out a laugh. “You’re pretty smart for a naïve guy.”

Liam rolls his eyes. Then he is serious again. “Promise, you’ll think about it?”

“Promise,” Stiles replies. It’s the least he can do and seeing how much Lydia, Kira and Liam actually want him to stay doesn’t make it easy to leave again – and maybe he doesn’t want to leave, maybe it could be great if he stayed. He loved Palo Alto, he loved the freedom. But his heart never really left his hometown. “Liam? One more question,” he adds. “Why did you break up with Hayden?”

Liam frowns. “She said a couple of things I couldn’t agree on.”

“That’s normal in a relationship,” Stiles reminds him.

“I guess I thought it isn’t worth the fight,” Liam replies quietly looking down to the floor. His hands are curled into tights fists at his sides.

“Liam-“

But Liam shakes his head. “I don’t regret the decision I made,” he says with a heat behind his voice that Stiles doesn’t have the smallest of doubts. “Either of them.”

“Good,” Stiles says, “Now go back to sleep.”

Liam nods smiling brightly, then he shuffles back inside. Seems like he is looking into a future he is content with because Liam has never been someone who has hidden his emotions. IED makes something like that hard. Maybe staying really isn’t such a bad idea. Maybe he needs to confront his fears. With a sigh, he buries his face in his hands. Confronting your fears sucks. And it’s not just about becoming an alpha – because let’s be real here, Liam was right. There will never be someone Stiles would just accept to be alpha. He isn’t wired like that; he didn’t even hesitate to give his former alphas shit. _Like at all_. Whether Scott was his alpha or not- but considering that his powers had turned Scott into an alpha in the first place, it’s no surprise that Stiles was always having a hand in his decisions. For example, chaining Liam to a tree. Because Scott thought that wasn’t necessary and maybe it wasn’t. But Stiles made sure to get his will. And Derek? Derek listened, too. What if-

What if a void isn’t a pack’s emissary?

What if a void is the _alpha’s_ emissary? That would explain why it easily takes the place once no alpha is present. That would explain why the void choses the next alpha. After all, an alpha’s bite helped creating Annabelle. An alpha’s bite and the nemeton; the place where druids held their rituals – druids who are usually the emissary of a pack.

“If you wanna stay out here take this.” Stiles turns around in surprise. Theo is offering him one of his zip through hoodies. “It’s colder than yesterday.”

“Right.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Stiles takes the hoodie and slips into it. Surprising how big it is on him although Stiles is the taller out of the two of them. Then again, he isn’t half as muscular as Theo and he’s not that much taller. So, maybe it’s shouldn't be surprising. As he zips it up, he can’t help but notice how it smells like Theo or at least his deodorant and perfume. It probably smells like _him_ , too, but Stiles wouldn’t know that – at least not in the way the werewolves do.

“I’m sorry,” Theo says then suddenly, “About being pissed at you for wanting to talk to Liam.”

“Did you just apologize?”

Theo sends a dirty look in his direction. Stiles rolls his eyes and pulls him in. Scoffing, Theo falls against him. He wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to be somewhat close to him. His arms sneak around his waist, carefully avoiding Stiles’ stitches.

“I’m also sorry about biting you,” Theo mutters against Stiles’ shoulder, “And calling you property.”

How to tackle your fears; _stop being afraid_.

Maybe he is freaking out too much. Maybe he shouldn’t be freaking out so much that he feels something for Theo. It’s reciprocated. Of course, it won’t be easy and Theo will have to work on a lot of things. They will fight a lot. They will be annoyed by and with each other on a daily basis. Because that’s kind of what they do. They probably won’t agree on half of the things they need to agree on; and Theo will say a lot of things that are going to piss Stiles off to now end.

But it seems to be worth the fight.

Just not right now.

“Maybe we should take a few steps back,” Stiles says quietly and he can feel Theo tense against him. “There is too much going on. If we start this now-“

“No,” Theo tightens his hold on him. Although he expected resistance, it still comes as a surprise; and Stiles doesn’t want to. He really doesn’t want to do this at all. But there isn’t much he can do about it. Lydia is right, he needs him – but not as a partner; at least not right now. Theo needs him as a supporter, someone who guides him maybe. He needs _this_ as in he needs a pack; he needs stability, needs _help_.

“Yes,” Stiles replies firmly, “We are not going to last a month if we do this now.”

“You want to stop.” His voice sounds so painfully vulnerable.

“Postpone the start,” Stiles whispers pressing his lips against Theo’s temple for a second, who starts pulling away ever so slowly. He lets him get the distance he needs; it’s probably easier if they don’t cling to each other like little children. As Theo crosses his arms tightly over his chest, it tells Stiles exactly what he anticipated to get out of this talk. “Sometimes it’s not about what you want but what you need.” Theo scrunches up his nose at the reminder. “That have been your words,” Stiles says sharply and Theo pulls his shoulders up. “Neither of us needs a dysfunctional partner right now. I have a pack to think about and you need help.”

“You can help me.”

“No, I can help you find help.”

“So what,” Theo snaps pulling both physically and emotionally further away from Stiles, “You think talking to some fucking psychiatrist will help me? If I have to lie-“

“I know a psychiatrist who knows about our world,” Stiles interrupts him, “But it won’t do you any good if you don’t _want_ to get help.” That’s the most important thing about this whole situation; it’s the beginning of a successful therapy.

Theo frowns at him. “I hate it when you use my words against me.”

“Then stop being a smartass.”

 

Isaac glances at him for the tenth time in a row. It’s aggravating in a way Stiles can’t explain. “What?” He snaps eventually, tightening his grip around the steering wheel.

“You okay?” Isaac asks finally turning in the passenger’s seat so he can look at him properly.

Stiles glances at him out of the corner of his eye. “What do you mean?”

Isaac shrugs.” You seem…” He waves his hand around. “Withdrawn.”  

Stiles glances in the rear-view mirror, glances at his own face and for the first time since Donovan’s death, he doesn’t feel the need to avoid his own eye. “It’s just something Liam said yesterday.” And definitively not a post-break up depression of some sort. Because Theo and he haven’t broken up. They can’t break up if they didn’t have a relationship in the first place. And they didn't. They had sex once. They kissed. But that’s not enough to be counted as a relationship.

“About you being afraid of yourself or about you and Theo?”

Well, why isn’t he surprised Isaac knows, too? Doubtable Kira isn’t in the know by all the information being thrown around. He wonders if the pack has actively talked about them or if they all just have their own suspicions. Then again, if Isaac connects his statement with Theo and his _fling_ – there we go, that’s a somewhat fitting term – maybe Liam talked to Isaac as Theo and Stiles were visiting his father at the police department yesterday. “Everyone knows about Theo and I, huh?” He asks eventually.

“We’ve had our suspicions,” Isaac admits, “But Mason-“

“Saw us,” Stiles interrupts, “I’ve heard.”

“Nobody’s judging you, you know? We just want you to be careful.”

Stiles nods. “I am.” He won’t admit that Isaac’s words are actually a huge relief. “Believe me, I am.”

Isaac is quiet for a long time. They are only five minutes away from the woods as he speaks up again. “What’s bothering you really?”

Stiles shifts a little in his seat. “I’m just trying to figure out what I’m supposed to do.”

“You mean staying or going,” Isaac concludes and as Stiles only nods, a small smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “I was afraid I’ll become like my dad. I still am sometimes. But I decided that I won’t let that stop me.” Almost absently, he taps his finger against the dashboard and looks out the window in the distance. For a short while, Isaac is far away. Somewhere Stiles cannot follow. “You’re not possessed anymore and you won’t become like Carman,” he says then decidedly. “You wanna know why?”

“Why?”

“Because you have Lydia and John,” Isaac explains, “and you’re a good person.”

Stiles presses his lips into a tight line. “Liam said that, too. Sometimes I’m not so sure about that.”

Isaac scoffs. “Because you killed someone?” He sounds so unimpressed with that information Stiles wonders if he’d forgotten his brother is a goddamn cop. “Newsflash, kiddo-“ Okay, whoa there, someone’s hanging out too much with John Stilinski- “there is a difference between hurting someone because there is no other way and doing it because you get a kick out of it. Sometimes it’s justifiable, you know?” Stiles doesn’t really understand why Isaac and Theo don’t get along _but_ he gets his point. There is a reason self-defence is implemented in the law. “So, get out of your head and stop being afraid to fuck shit up. We’re not perfect. If you make a mistake, learn from it and do it better next time.”

Stiles looks at him while they are waiting at a red light. “Well, if I make a mistake, I might just end up killing all of you.” It’s easier to talk about things like that with Isaac. Not because he knows him longer but because he is sure Isaac doesn’t freak out at those words.

“Seriously?” Isaac asks rolling his eyes. “Who’s been making all the plans from the very beginning? You. Did someone die because you fucked up? No.” Allison. Aiden. Erica. Boyd. Donovan. They are dead. But he wasn’t at fault. It’s never been his fault, right? They died because of things he couldn’t have stopped, even if he wanted to. There was _nothing_ he could have done to prevent that. He still feels responsible for Allison and Aiden. If he hadn’t let that fucking nogitsune in- “Stop blaming yourself,” Isaac snaps suddenly, almost like he knows exactly what’s going on in his head. Maybe he does. “The nogitsune wanted you, and it got you. There was nothing you could’ve done, okay?” But what if- “Sacrificing Malia wouldn’t have stopped it. Maybe it would’ve bought us more time- time for what? Time to get more people killed.” Stiles tries to breathe calmly but he can feel his heart racing. “We’re having your back, Stiles. All of us. We trust you. I trust you, okay?”  

Stiles nods, slowly at first than more persistent. “Okay,” he says quietly. “What would you do in my place?” _Tell me_ , please, _tell me_.

“As your Beta, I’d say stay,” Isaac replies without any hesitation, “as your friend, I’d say do what your instincts tell you.”

 _Instincts_. This is a very heavy word being thrown around far too often and far too early. “That’s so not helpful.”

“You’re going to do the right thing,” Isaac smiles – and he sounds so fucking confident, it’s hard not to believe him.

Stiles relaxes visibly. “Let’s look at dead bodies first.”

 

“Okay, we have a problem, like, the biggest problem of problems in the history of problems ever written down,” Stiles says barging into the loft in a hurry. Kira and Lydia look up at him in surprise. “Actually, this isn’t even a problem anymore it’s a catastrophe. It’s a disaster beyond all expectations. Seriously, I’m not overreacting.”

Lydia raises a brow. “How about you tell us why you’re freaking out, sweetheart.”

“The nogitsunes are dead, like dead- _dead_ ,” Stiles says brushing of the insult. “As in their sparks are empty dead.” Also, their knives are gone which is _so_ not cool but not the main problem right now. Hopefully, Isaac and Jordan can find them. Maybe they can sniff them out or something like that. If those knives get into the wrong hands, they have even more problems to deal with.

“What?” Kira asks shocked. “Who could’ve done that?”

“Well, who could that have been?” Seriously, they don’t know many people or creatures that have scared the shit out of the nogitsunes. Aside from Stiles, only two. Those goddamn kitsunes – and when they are capable of striking them down with a lightning strike, Stiles doesn’t really want to think about what they are capable of doing to him or his pack. “I need you to call your mom,” Stiles urges, “Find out if Annabelle had met her cousins.”

“Okay.”

“Where is Theo?”

Lydia points at the ceiling. “Upstairs, he said he wanted to get some sleep.” Stiles crosses the room in a rush, taking two stairs at once. Lydia is on his heels. “Did he do something?”

“No, I need him for something,” Stiles replies.

“For what?” They reach the top of the stairs. There are only three doors in the rather small corridor. The bathroom, the room Lydia and Kira sleep in and Liam and Mason’s room. All in all, the upstairs area is two thirds of the size of downstairs.

Since Stiles doubts Theo has chosen the room Liam slept in, for obvious reasons, he opens the other door. He finds Theo laying on his back on the mattress underneath the opened window. But he isn’t sleeping, which Stiles doesn’t know solely because Theo doesn’t sleep on his back at all. Like, he is one of those weird people who can only fall asleep on their stomach and never rolls onto his back. It’s so weird that he doesn’t move – unless he’s having a nightmare. He is also acutely aware of Theo’s general not sleeping because his music is loud enough that Stiles can pick up on it in the doorway.

Stiles crosses the room and nudges Theo’s leg with his foot. Instantly, the chimera startles into a sitting position. “Don’t _do_ that!” He snaps louder than strictly necessary. “I can’t smell you, did you forget that?” Scowling, he fumbles for his phone and stops the music.

“You need to learn that nobody in here wants to actually kill you,” Stiles reminds him with a raised brow.

Theo gets to his feet rubbing the back of his neck. “Instincts,” he mutters. Again. _That_ word. Stiles is starting to very much dislike it.

“We’re having a problem.”

“A huge problem,” Lydia adds.

Theo raises his brows. “What kind of problem?”

“The kind of problem that requires you to break the barrier in my head.” The silence that follows is so quiet that Stiles is confident it’s one of those silences that can only be compared to _dead silence_. It can hardly get any quieter. It’s like even the wind outside decided to shut up for a goddamn second because it realised something heavy was said.

Theo stares at him open mouthed but it’s Lydia who interrupts the silence. “I thought that didn’t work.”

“Peter said it can be forced. For alphas it’s even easier,” Stiles answers not looking away from Theo. Yes, he is trying to manipulate him into doing something particularly dangerous. Stiles is fully aware that he offers Theo the power he’s always wanted in exchange for breaking the barrier in his head. It’s risky, of course. But it’s the only way he can think of. “I need you to force it.”

“Are you mental?” Lydia asks.

“ _Theo_.”

“No, I won't,” Theo replies.

“What?” Stiles honestly did not expect him to decline. Usually, he bows to his every whim and wish just so Stiles would like him that extra bit more – or maybe so Stiles would be in his debt when shit hits the fan. Whatever it is, Theo usually doesn’t say no to Stiles. Especially with the temptation of becoming an alpha, even if it is only for the short period of time in which he actively breaks the barrier.

The anger bubbling up inside him is even more surprising.

But Theo doesn’t even give it a second thought. “I said I won’t do it,” he ventures brushing past Stiles as if the topic is over and done.

So not going to happen, pal.

“Are you kidding me?” Stiles grabs Theo’s arm to stop him.

Immediately, Theo frees himself from his grip – hard enough that Stiles stumbles a few steps backwards. “If it means risking your life than the answer is no,” he snaps. That’s a joke. It’s got to be a fucking joke. Why is this idiot refusing to do it? Can’t he see that this is the only way? That this is what they have to do?

“Listen to me,” Stiles hisses; he needs to convince Theo, he _needs_ to, “the kitsunes killed Dub and Dother last night. If I’m not in possession of my powers I'm next-“ Something crosses over Theo’s expression but he doesn’t budge, although Stiles’ life is in imminent line of danger. Stiles can’t put into words how _angry_ it makes him that he doesn’t understand. “ _You_ might be next.” But Theo doesn’t even flinch at the mention that he is under threat, too. “I can’t let anything happen to the pack, okay?” Why did he even think Theo would care about the rest of the pack? He does to a certain extent, that’s hardly something he can deny, but part of the reason he does it is because Stiles wants him to. Other than that, their priorities crash into each other. Theo cares about Stiles first whereas he cares more about the pack than himself.

Theo clenches his jaw. He doesn’t need to say anything for Stiles to know that his answer hasn’t changed. A _no_ has never aggravated Stiles this much before.

“Fine,” he spits and his anger is somewhat unjustified considering that both Theo and Lydia are just trying to keep him safe. But that doesn’t solve his problems. Keeping him safe doesn’t save the lives of those around him. Stiles understands now why Derek had driven Isaac away from him. It’s the best you can do if your very presence is a threat to your pack members’ health. “ _Fine_. Then I go to Peter. He’ll do it.”

“If he does than he is dead before his claws touch your neck.”

“So, _what_? I’m supposed to sit around and do nothing?” Stiles spits. What is _wrong_ with him? He needs to get rid of this barrier.

Theo bares his teeth not willing to budge. “You already know how to break the barrier.”

“We don’t have time to fuck around,” he snaps pushing Theo back a few steps, “I need to get this barrier gone and you are the only one who can do it.”

“Tough luck.”

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t make you.” Stiles grabs the collar of his shirt but Theo looks back at him, lips curled into a tight line. “You know I can make you.” He startles at his own words. What? _I can make you_? No. No. That’s not – That isn’t right. He would never make someone do anything. He wouldn't-

“You want a reason?” Theo asks and there is something off in his voice, something Stiles is unable to place. But it yanks him out of his thoughts. “You want me to tell you why I won’t risk hurting you? It’s because _I_ -“ He stops abruptly, licks his lips and avoids Stiles’ eyes for a couple of seconds. Because he what? “Because you’re my alpha.” No, no, Stiles doesn’t believe that’s the whole reason – not the whole truth. Theo is keeping something from him. Theo is keeping the real reason from him; and while Stiles is staring at him, trying to figure out what exactly it is that he hides, Theo frees himself. “If you excuse me, I’m going to leave until you’ve come back to your senses.” And with that he rushes out of the room.

Stiles stares after him. “What the hell was that?” He asks.

Lydia gives him a look; to be quite specific, she gives him one of her very special _what-the-fuck_ looks. The one where she inclines her head ever so slightly to properly squint at him. Stiles isn’t quite sure if he deserved that look. “You really haven’t realised it yet?” She asks eventually and crosses her arms to undermine that whole expression thing going on.

“Realised what?”

“Nothing,” Lydia replies rolling her eyes, “nothing.”

What the hell is he supposed to make out of _that_?

 

“I guess we’re on the right track?” Kira muses offering Stiles another tissue. He seriously anticipated being on the right track would involve less headaches and more progress. But it seems like it’s the other way around. He gets more headaches and that black liquid is like an annoying nose bleed. The goddamn spoon didn’t even budge in the slightest. It just lays in the middle of the table mocking him – and that Stiles feels mocked by inanimate objects is a tell-tale sign for the necessity of a break.

“I need an aspirin,” Stiles mutters crumpling up the tissue in his hand.

Lydia watches him rising. “Nobody said it was easy.”

“There is a difference between difficult and impossible,” Stiles calls over his shoulder. Upon hearing her sigh, he knows she is rolling her eyes at him. But before he can say anything about that he is side-tracked by what he finds around the corner. While Isaac and Stiles left to meet with Jordan and John after they had found the nogitsunes’ bodies, Lydia, Kira and Theo were cleaning up the loft – and somehow someone of them thought it a good idea to push Theo and his mattresses together. With the way, their blankets are neatly folded, it’s hard to believe Theo had any hand in this. But he must’ve seen it because on top of Stiles’ blanket lie the lists of runes with a little note attached to them.

_Face your demons and I’ll face mine._

That asshole.

But then again, he is probably right. Not only about Stiles needing to confront his very own demons. He can demand it, too, considering that Stiles can hardly order him to do something which he puts off himself. _Make a mistake, learn from it and do it better next time_. Yeah, he gets the point. His pack is made of fucking smartasses although that is supposed to be his job.

“How did you do it?” Stiles asks moving back to the main room. “I mean, the whole katana wielding badassery came out of nowhere, right? But what about you being able to control electricity?” Pulling a face, he folds the note and shoves it in the pocket of his jeans. There are a lot of demons to tackle. One is the way he acted as Theo refused to help. That’s in no way an acceptable behaviour for an alpha. That isn’t what his pack needs. He doesn’t even understand why he would react the way he did – and although he didn’t do anything in the end, those words leaving his lips terrifies him.

Kira looks slightly uncomfortable. “I just did?”

“Is that a question?”

“It happened kind of instinctively.”

There we go again. Instincts. He’s never going to get rid of this word, right? And this answer will _never ever_ help him in controlling his powers. Neither do the notes Lydia had taken from the talk with Annabelle. Some things he learned from it, for example that he can generally access the strength and speed and healing from a werewolf, as well as the different fox-fires of the kitsunes – not one, not two. _All of the them._ Well, almost, because the powers of a nogitsune are not included – or rather, they shouldn’t be. But Annabelle mentioned that it might not be the case for Stiles since he has been possessed. His void could have taken those powers and adapted them; considering what he said to Theo a little while ago, Stiles is inclined to believe her.

But since those powers are _only_ linked to his spark and not his body, he is mostly to be considered a human with a human body and human weaknesses; just like Lydia. A banshee doesn’t give her any more defences than a normal human being has – point proven by her two stays at the hospital. The two of them can be killed far easier than their pack members. But neither of them has to struggle with mountain ash or wolfsbane either. Since nature always tries to keep some form of balance, it put a limit on a void’s power. He can only do something as long as his spark has energy which it can draw from. With it being broken, the energy will only stay inside for a narrow span of time. But Stiles has a constant power income, which gives him a huge advantage. He still has to be careful because once the energy is gone, his void will get more from whatever source there is – if needed; in case that happens, if he draws more power than the sparks of his pack members can recreate, it’ll kill them. Kind of ironic, considering that he is supposed to protect them.

But it’s all about balance. It’s always about balance.

Additionally, he can only use his powers as long as his void is active – but he himself cannot wake it. This is a power only the members of his pack have over him; they are also the ones who can put it back to sleep. If they feel save, his void will rest. If not, it will be automatically woken up. It’s like something _lives_ inside him; something Stiles doesn’t much appreciate. But there is nothing he can do about it. Nothing at all.

All this information is great and all. He knows now _what_ he can do but still doesn’t know _how_ to do it.

According to both Lydia and Kira, Annabelle only said: It’ll happen if he wants it to happen. Which again, very unhelpful. But he has a theory of why an alpha can be beneficial, especially for a young void. They can probably conduct their power in a certain direction and with that help focusing it; this theory is supported by the fact that a void is exclusively an alpha’s emissary – so, his suspicion proved correct.

They are a weapon and every weapon needs someone to shoot it.

In his case, though, Stiles needs to be both: the weapon _and_ the shooter. Although he has not a single fucking clue how he is supposed to do that.

“A penny for your thoughts.” Kira throws the spoon, which he catches more or less elegant. The smile she offers him is comforting. But he’d rather stay inside his head right now.

Stiles watches Kira and Lydia in silence for a while. Things are shifting weirdly. He can feel it. Kira and he are inching closer together, are becoming better friends. They have been friends before but this is different. It’s like Liam has said: _We’re this weird and messy family_. Yeah, and family doesn’t end in blood. Family doesn’t always make you feel good. Family can _suck_ so bad it hurts. But even if this isn’t the family he anticipated to have, he’ll protect it. No matter what he has to do. He will bend over backwards, he will make the impossible possible – nobody will touch his family.

“I want this fucking thing in my head gone, ASAP.”

Lydia clicks her tongue. “Yeah, I noticed.”

Stiles bristles at her reply. “You don’t understand,” he spits as the anger comes to yet another boiling point. “Something terrible will happen.” Something he won’t be able to prevent if he can’t access his power properly.

Lydia immediately notices the shift in the atmosphere and straightens. “What will happen, Stiles?” She inquires.

Stiles runs a hand over his face. “I don’t know,” he admits. “I just know that something will happen.” And they won’t like it. They won’t be able to handle it. Not if he can’t _do shit_.

“Is it a hunch,” Kira asks suddenly, “or is it just a feeling?”

“What difference does it make?” Stiles hisses.

“I read up on the kitsunes’ powers since we learned your spark is part kitsune,” she explains scrutinising Stiles, “Aside from being able to manipulate it, a kitsune mastering time is able to predict the future.”

“Premonitions?” Stiles echoes flopping down on the chair beside her.

Kira nods. “Yeah, that could be a reason why you’re having all these _hunches_. Like that feeling of cold you got when Liam was attacked by the oni or the emptiness you felt before Dain attacked Theo. It might be your void’s way of telling you that something bad is in our future.” Predictions. Predictions he cannot even see, yet, just _feel_. “It also might explain why you got so irrationally angry at Theo for not breaking the barrier in your head. Maybe your void knows that if it is unable to help you properly-“

“Something terrible will happen,” Stiles finishes the sentence.

“Stilinski!”

His blood turns to ice at the sound of this particular voice. Its owner shouldn’t be around anymore. Stiles spins around just in time to see Theo being tossed into the room like a ragdoll, bruised and battered. Nobody moves a muscle. Stiles feels rooted to the ground, eyes locked on the person standing in the doorway. He should be dead. He should be- this is _impossible_.

“What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

_Donovan._


	20. For Whom the Bell Tolls

Donovan smirks as he steps into the room. Stiles glances to the place where a rune used to be, a rune which would have prevented this exact scenario but he wiped it off to access more power for the training. “Oh, right. Funny story, actually. Did you know that the nemeton keeps the sparks of the dead supernatural creatures intact? At least if they are carried over by a hell hound. You don’t burn, you are dumped into the depth of a magical tree like trash.” He rubs his hands, his voice sounding far too casual and gleeful; exactly like it had sounded when Donovan went after him the first time. “I have a theory as to why hell hounds are called hell hounds. Do you like to hear it?” There is a beat of silence, not enough to answer the clearly rhetorical question. Stiles supposes _no_ isn’t a passable answer. He doesn’t want to know. He doesn’t care about what’s going on in Donovan’s screwed up head. “Because the nemeton is like, you know, _Hell_. The nemeton hates everything supernatural, that’s why it lures us in. That thing is a fucking prison made of blood and bones and terror. Theo’s been there, he will agree with me, right?”

Theo decides for a growl instead of a properly worded answer.

Stiles glances at him for a second. He’s never told them what happened to him after Kira opened the rift, apparently. They know now that his sister tortured him – or rather, that he saw his sister torturing him. But he never really said anything about how it was like down there; and that he wasn’t the only one. A prison. A prison for the supernatural. This gets better and better.

“I sent him,” Kira replies getting to her feet, “There wasn’t a hell hound involved.” Her hand moves to her katana but Stiles grabs her wrist as everything tells him that that’s a bad decision. This path would not lead to a good ending. She’d die. If he let her loose, she’d die at the hands of Donovan. This hunch is as clear as day. He maybe hates the word instinct but it doesn’t keep him from trusting his own.

“Oh, that’s another funny fact. Given enough power, a thunder kitsune can turn their katana into a key; a key that can open a rift for everyone to walk in and out of the nemeton’s cruel little world. That kitsune was nice enough to free me.” _That kitsune._ Why does the phrasing bug Stiles so much? He knows there are two roaming Beacon Hills. Maybe only one of them opened the rift while the other was killing the nogitsunes. The answer doesn’t satisfy him. Something is just off. “She was looking for someone who can cross mountain ash and is angry enough to do her dirty work.” Donovan winks at Stiles. _Her_. Why does that sound so alarming? “She told me everything about you, by the way. I had a hunch that the fucking pole was some lucky hit, pal. But you knew that, didn’t you? I mean, let’s be real here: some laws of reality had to be seriously screwed with so that the pole hit me the way it did.” Donovan taps the side of his head with his index finger. “It was almost as if someone pulled me from the scaffolding and drove that thing right through my heart.” He raps his knuckles against his chest.

It’s the truth. That’s why Stiles had felt horrible after Donovan's death. He knew it wasn’t an accident, he fucking knew that it was his doing. It’s why he couldn’t tell anyone. It’s why he ran instead of calling his father, telling him what happened. He knew his father would understand, he _knew_ his father wouldn’t put him in prison – but he couldn’t bring himself to lie to him, not this time, not about something so grave. He couldn’t bring himself to look him in the eye and tell him Donovan’s death was an accident. And this knowledge explains every single stupid idea he had regarding Donovan’s death and why he tried to defend Kira for almost killing Lucas. _Self-defence_. Seeing that Scott would maybe understand, would maybe see reason behind such an act- it would have eased Stiles’ fear. But Scott didn’t understand and for some godforsaken reason that told him that his father wouldn’t understand either. But Theo understood. Theo had known, too, that it wasn’t an accident. Deep down Stiles had been aware that only one of them would make it out of that library, and that had needed to be him.

“I killed you once.” Stiles finally finds his voice. “I’ll kill you again,” he adds without giving away what’s going on inside his head.

“You see what I did to little Theo over there?” Donovan gestures vaguely in said direction. Stiles follows the pointer and locks eyes with Theo for a second. “That kitsune didn’t only bring me back, she gave me additional power.” The nogitsunes’ knives were gone, Stiles remembers suddenly. What if the power gathered with the knives has finally been given to someone? How strong exactly would the energy of Dub and Dother make someone like Donovan? Stiles really doesn’t want to think about it because he won’t like the answer. “Theo didn’t have the ghost of a chance. But breaking his bones was only satisfying the first two times.” He makes a dismissive gesture. That was the terrible feeling. That’s why he got so angry at Theo. His void knew that if Theo left, something terrible would be happening to _him_. “Physical pain is so fleeting, you know?”

Stiles does, in fact, know about the fleetingness of physical pain. Not because he is a werewolf whose every bruise heals in a matter of seconds but because he has survived his fair share of physical pain. He’s played Lacrosse. He’s been beaten, bitten, punched – there is more to that list. Point is, it's manageable. Nothing that was physically done to him matches the feeling of the death of his loved ones. That’s what still hurts. 

“She sent me to take you to her,” Donovan continues his rant; death hasn’t changed him at all. He is still a psychopath who feels the need to have a monologue before he finally does what he came for. “And I was really excited to get my revenge. But then I thought: Who is really responsible for my death?” Donovan snaps his fingers and points at Theo like they’re old drinking buddies. “As chance would have it, that guy jogged through the woods. I beat his sorry ass to Hell and back. I didn’t kill him because I want him to really suffer before I end his pathetic life. But as I told him I had to deal with you first, something almost ironic happened.”

There is another low growl. Theo is healing slowly – too slowly for Stiles’ liking. They needed him ready for battle like yesterday.

“Real pain is emotional pain,” Donovan sneers, “That is the kinda pain that lasts. Do you remember those words, Theo?”

Stiles flinches as Theo surges forward all of the sudden. Kira tries to grab him but she is too slow. Theo almost makes it to Donovan, not that he could do much in his current condition – and Stiles gets the feeling Donovan waits for something. He’s right. Just as Theo is within striking range, Donovan pushes him back. Theo is lifted of his feet and flung back. The crack of his ribs is all too audibly ricocheting off the walls. Then he slams into Stiles; and it feels like being hit by a truck.

Kira draws her katana but Lydia stops her as well.

Stiles’ ribs have felt better before, like _way_ better. But they aren’t broken and he can’t be bothered by pain now. He pushes Theo off him, who winces. Theo is a lot more wounded than he should be. Generally, wounds inflicted by an alpha heal slower – does that also count for chimeras with heightened powers? How many fucking problems do they have to face until this shit is over? Stiles turns to Theo, who looks as if he doesn’t manage to keep up with the healing he needs to do. Yeah, this is bad. “You okay?” He asks although the answer is plainly written all over Theo's body.

“Peachy,” Theo replies through gritted teeth.

Stiles glares at him. “It can’t be that bad if you’re already sarcastic.”  

“Stilinski,” Donovan snaps before Theo can retort anything, “I’m not done yet.” Stiles turns to face their problem of the hour again. “You should know why you’re in the position you’re in right now. It’s because Theo taught me something very important.” Stiles rises to his feet but Theo pulls him back by his shirt; something Donovan seems to find incredibly amusing. “If you want to cause someone devastating, _soul crushing_ emotional pain, you don’t go after them.” Something in the air shifts. Stiles can feel it weighing him down. “You go after someone they love.” The time for talking is over. Stiles senses it like you can sense the exact moment the clouds would break open for a downpour; it’s a drop first and before you can look up at the sky, you are soaked to the bone. “Ironically enough, that brings me back to you. _Again_.”

The next thing Stiles feels must be comparable to being hit by debris thrown from a tornado. He is lifted off the ground and thrown across the room just like Theo has been a few moments ago. He slams to the ground close to the open door, hitting the back of his head hard enough that blackness creeps into his vision. There is a metallic taste in his mouth. Groaning, he tries to come to his feet but Donovan is on top of him before he is able to move a muscle. Still fighting consciousness, Stiles raises his arms, expecting a punch that never comes.

He is _so fucking fast_. Stiles was barely able to see him move.

Donovan grabs his collar pulling him up and closer. “Do you have _any_ idea how much that screwed up kid loves you?” He laughs, showing Stiles an unobstructed view of his very sharp teeth. Theo’s words are ringing in his ears. _It’s because I-_ Stiles had _no_ clue; he didn’t have a single fucking clue. “Seriously. It’s so pathetic. But it also makes this fucking easy. Every little thing I do to you will kill him a little more. And you bet your ass I will take my sweet, sweet time with you, Stilinski. I’m gonna make this slow. I’m gonna take everything from him he holds dear, and I’m gonna make him watch every second of it.” Laughing again, he claps Stiles’ cheek. Anger is starting to bring life back into his body. A lot of it. Donovan should know better than to wake the dragon. “Don’t think I don’t know you’ve got a kitsune and a banshee over there. I can smell them. And I’m telling you, as soon as any of your friends makes a move, I will end your pathetic life.”

Stiles believes him. He believes every single word.

“Where, oh where should I start?”

“You know what’s comforting?” Stiles asks trying his hardest to keep his voice from shaking, “Your threats are still as bad as they used to be.”

“ _Stiles_ ,” Lydia warns.

But he doesn’t intend on stopping. Getting Donovan irrationally angry is kind of what saved his ass the first time. If he hadn’t been so pissed off, he would’ve kept the game going. But Donovan wanted to end their fight quickly, which led him to try and eat his legs instead of climbing up beside Stiles to knock him off the scaffolding. “You’re the one that’s pathetic, buddy,” Stiles sounds more confident than he feels. He sounds a lot less angry than he is, too. His chances aren’t exactly good. If Donovan is as strong as he is fast, there isn’t much Stiles can do. There might not be anything any of them can do to stop him. But it’s worth a try. Also, he is a void; that should count for something, right?

“I don’t think you’re in the position to be cocky, Stilinski.” He is dropping Stiles, smirking at him. Donovan is overly confident, thinking he has already won. That’s a mistake, because Stiles is a fighter, he is a survivor – and it’s dangerous to drop your caution in front of someone like that. He should’ve known better than to underestimate him.   

_Always go for a counter if you have the chance._

“You wanna learn how to threaten people?” Stiles asks, “Try hanging out with a Hale.” Since he can’t reach back, he works with what he has. He aims for Donovan’s jaw and connects hard enough that his knuckles split on impact. The pain is vicious but it’s worth it. The punch throws Donovan off him – which is as surprising as it is amazing. Just that now isn’t the time to be excited about that. In a hurry, he scrambles to his feet using the door to quicken the process.

In the next moment, Stiles doesn’t even understand how he knows or why he does it, he ducks. Not a second too late. Donovan’s arm flies over his head missing him by mere inches. His fist goes straight through the wooden door. Stiles uses the same door to gather some sort of momentum. He pushes off and flings his body into Donovan’s. It reaches the desired effect. They both fall to the ground again, skidding down the small set of stairs.

No matter how successful his attempts of fighting back have turned out to be, as soon as he scrambled to his feet to get away, Donovan yanks him down again.

Someone moves. Stiles can see it in his peripheral vision – and just like that the sharp end of a blade threatens to dig into his main arteria by the littlest of pressure. Donovan keeps him in check with a knife in his hand. He points at Kira with the other. “The katana,” he says beckoning for it. “Or I’ll cut his throat. Your decision.”

Don't. _Don't_. Don’t give in to his demands. That’s exactly what he gets off on; the helplessness, the fear. But Kira steps closer, the katana only loosely in her grasp. “Break it.”

Kira looks at Stiles. She doesn’t wait for an answer, though. Instead she sends him a sombre smile. The crack of the metal is like a bomb exploding. Stiles flinches at the sound and can’t help but stare at the many broken pieces clattering to the ground as well as Kira's retreating boots. It feels more like defeat than anything else could have. This is giving up. They are not made for giving up. This is not what they do. They _fight_. They fight until there is nothing left to fight for. But the broken katana symbolizes the end.

Donovan pushes Stiles on all fours. “Good girl.” Stiles puts his hands and fingers against the floor, knuckles turning white under the pressure. “Theo, how about you sit down beside your friends?” It’s not a request that much is clear. “I'd like to keep an eye on all of you while Stilinski and I have a little bit of fun.” Steps resonate through the room. Theo is still hobbling. Disgusting glee wedges itself between Stiles’ own emotions. He wants to cut it out of his body. “This looks good,” Donovan says smirk audible in the way he speaks. Stiles uses his distraction and draws a piece of the katana closer to him with his pinkie finger. “Don’t you think?” He yanks him up by the strands of his hair.

Stiles curls his fist around a piece of Kira's katana, hiding it in the palm of his hand. He feels more awake suddenly, more aware of his surroundings. His body is vibrating with the urge to move but he doesn’t allow himself to give in to it. Not now. This isn’t the right moment to strike back. For the first time since the nogitsune possessed him, he feels like he is fully in control of himself, his thoughts and his actions. He locks eyes with Lydia, who – out of the three of them – seems the calmest. It’s almost as if she knows. It’s like she isn’t afraid because Stiles isn’t either. Her lips are curled into a tight line, teeth clenched and eyes narrowed. Overall, she seems to be determined. Whereas Kira can’t stop fidgeting, eyebrows drawn in, fingers intertwined with Lydia’s. But her knuckles are white, that’s how tight she holds onto the banshee. Theo has his fangs bared and claws curled as if he waits for the perfect opportunity to attack. But his shoulders are pulled up and his eyes betray his whole aggressive manner. He’s afraid. He’s absolutely terrified because he fears his nightmare will become reality.

“I like that redhead,” Donovan says too close to his ear, fingers still tightly in Stiles’ hair, “She’s feisty. Friend of yours?”

“Girlfriend,” Lydia replies sharply.

“Really?” Donovan jeers, “Maybe you should know Theo is interested in your man.”

Lydia merely glances at Theo, who fights to keep his expression in check. The muscle movements are miniscule. Stiles barely spots them; and he only does because he _knows_ Theo. Donovan will never notice it. Hopefully. “I don’t see what gave you that impression,” Lydia comments eventually rolling her eyes, “They’re just pack members.” Stiles knows what she is trying to do. Theo seems to understand as well but he has a much harder time to get his micro-expressions under control. This isn’t necessarily bad. Still, Donovan is smart. If he looks just a little bit closer, he’ll know.

“You seem very composed for your _boyfriend_ being in this much trouble,” Donovan remarks pulling Stiles’ head back until it basically rests against his shoulder and he can’t see his pack anymore. He hates it, hates that his only means of communication is ripped away from him. But he doesn’t struggle either. There is no point in doing that.

Lydia tsks. “He killed you once.”

Donovan nods slowly. He is close enough that Stiles can feel the movement more than he sees it. “True. But there’s no pole here.” He puts his hand on Stiles’ chest, right over his beating heart. “Nothing you can bewitch now, Stilinski.” Donovan’s lips move against the shell of his ear, sharp teeth catch on the skin there easily tearing it open.

Stiles tries not to flinch at it but his shoulders go rigid with the tension. It is less about the sharp teeth than the intimacy Donovan is mocking him with. He still doesn’t believe Lydia. No, he doesn’t believe her at all. Donovan is trying to get Theo out of hiding, to get him do something just because it would give him a reason to hurt Stiles; and with that make him responsible for everything. But with Stiles being used as a shield, it is unlikely that he will do that.

“What did your sister do to you, Theo?” He asks amusement still the major sound in his voice. “Rip your heart out?” Donovan moves his hand so that the tips of his fingers are hovering just over Stiles’ breastbone. “Like this?” He lowers his hand, ever so slowly increasing the pressure. It’s obvious that he tries to evoke a reaction but Theo doesn’t move; despite the cocktail of emotions bubbling up – anger and fear and terror and too much to be picked apart. Especially not as the pain worsens the harder Donovan digs his fingers into his skin.

Two things, Stiles is one-hundred percent sure about right now.

He won’t scream.

But he won’t find out how much pressure his breastbone can stand before it cracks either.

Stiles slams the piece of katana into Donovan’s side. The blade cuts into the palm of his hand but that pain is manageable – particularly considering the immense pain he would be in if he didn’t stop him. Donovan yells; more in rage than out of pain. But he doesn’t give Stiles the chance to free himself. A fist connects with his temple. The next second he is slammed against the floor again. His side screams in pain, yet he doesn’t actually remember being hurt there. And his shirt is wet. Is he bleeding again? He might be bleeding again. Why is he bleeding again?

_Fuck the bleeding._

He will not be beaten by a chimera made out of a wendigo and a goddamn fish.

But Donovan is strong, too strong – and the next kick sends Stiles half across the loft. Then he is on him again, fitting his hands around his throat, squeezing. It’s that moment that Stiles realizes that Donovan would have never brought him to the kitsunes. Hurting Theo was a pretence. This has always been about killing him, this is personal – and Stiles can’t even fight back. The sounds around him are dimming, weird. As if someone speaks through a phone that’s four times his age. Blackness creeps into the edges of his vision.

“Stop.” His voice is a choked of sound barely louder than the whisper of wind. The word _please_ wedges itself between Stiles’ teeth. But he’d rather bite his tongue off than let it slip out. He’s not going to beg. “Stop.” There, that came out better – and the pressure on his throat weakens as a flicker of confusion crosses Donovan’s face. “ _Stop_!” That is exactly how he wanted it to sound. A command. An order.

And Donovan stops.

Stiles takes a couple of deep breaths but he doesn’t dare wait long. His head feels like it is going to explode and the control he has on Donovan doesn’t seem that strong. It’s flickering in and out of existence like bad lightning. “Get off me,” he hisses. There is more confusion crossing over Donovan’s face, almost bordering on irritation. He doesn’t understand what’s going on. But he gets to his feet either way. “Don’t move. Do _not_ move a muscle.” Stiles pushes away from him as Donovan struggles to get his body under control again. “In fact, don’t even think about moving until I tell you to.”

“That’s all we wanted to see.” Stiles turns his head in the direction the voice comes from but the person at the door is unrecognizable, features blurry. He’s going to pass out. He’s going to- “Change in plan, buddy!” She sounds young, almost like a teenage girl – no, younger. A child. A _child_. Is that one of the kitsunes? Is she-? “Take him in now,” she snaps. _No_ , his pack. They’re going to hurt his pack. “I’m done playing hide and seek.”

Donovan steps into his view again. “Sleep tight.”

After that, everything goes dark.

 

“Is he even alive?”

Stiles only slowly comes to. The first thing he notices – beside the hard and uncomfortable ground he is laying on – is pain; the run-over-by-a-car-or-repeatedly-hit-with-a-sledgehammer kind of pain. His whole body aches, even breathing hurts; and don’t get him started on his side. Holy shit. It feels like it’s burning; that’s a full-blown infection going on there. Amazing.

“He’s cute.”

His shirt sticks to his skin and there is blood underneath his nose; well blood and most likely that black ink. Yeah. Donovan did a great job of knocking him out – and if the nausea, dizziness and headache is anything to go by, he’s having a mild concussion, too. This makes for an amazing time to come.

“For a dead guy, Emily.”

“He is breathing, hon.” There’s a giggle. It sounds less distorted. Finally, it seems like his ears are working properly again. That’s at the very least a start. “God, I hope he survives. I really wouldn’t mind-“

“Annabelle is going to be pissed.” _Annabelle?_ What does Annabelle have to do with the young girl from the loft? At least, if it is her. But the voice sounds like it is. He was abducted by a psychopath and a little kid. This will be something he’s never going to tell his children. Then again, he was beaten up by an old man and managed to get himself possessed by a psychotic fox-spirit. Yeah, he should probably think about what he can tell his children so they wouldn’t lose every ounce of respect for him. 

“Oh, sweetheart.” The girl – _Emily_ , her name is Emily – sounds as if she is older. Stiles’ age, give or take a few years. Maybe. He can’t concentrate properly. His head still hurts so fucking much. “Don’t worry about that.” There is the clicking of heels. “Man, I really want to get my hands on him.”

“ _Ew_.” The little girl sounds as disgusted as he feels. “Oh, I think he is waking up.”

Opening his eyes is exceptionally hard – and he closed them again after the harsh lightning above almost blinded him. A groan slips from his lips as he tries moving for the first time. But every single bone in his body feels like it’s short of broken. As he finally managed to roll onto his side, Stiles blinks again. It takes his vision quite a while to get unfuzzy enough for him to see Emily and the little girl. He’s been right about Emily. She is about Kira’s height, black hair cut into a short bob. Her clothing is mostly black, boots, leather pants, top. The only drop of colour is the rose-pink camo print cargo jacket. No make-up aside from mascara. The little girl, who is definitely her baby sister – they’ve got the same nose, same distinct Cupid’s bow – wears a long-sleeved white dress with daisy print and sandals. She’s got her black hair styled in two braids. They both look so normal. Nothing indicates that they are more than a thousand years old or that they can control those powerful oni. _Nothing_ indicates that they would kill nogitsunes, draw their power and give it to a resurrected psychopath only to kidnap a him.

“Rise and shine, sweety.”

“Do you have to call him that?”

“I’m just trying to be amicable,” Emily rolls her eyes in a way only a teenager can. All these years she has lived already and she never managed to grow up even in the slightest. Neither has her sister, it seems.

Stiles coughs, willing his voice to work. “The fuck d’you want?”

“That’s a dollar for the swear jar.”

“Oh, grow up, Sasha.”

“Yeah,” Stiles croaks, “grow up, Sasha.”

The little girl glares at him. “You have quite the mouth on you for someone being in your situation.”

Stiles heaves himself on all fours. “It’s a condition.” It would be rather convenient if he didn’t need the wall to get into a standing position but he doesn’t quite trust his legs. He doesn’t trust his stomach either; and vomiting is seriously the last thing he wants to do right now. “Gets worse around spoiled brats.” Okay, let’s work on proper breathing. Long and deep breaths. He is not going to throw up- nothing would even come out of it. When’s the last time he _ate_ something? Did he even eat something today? If it is still is today. How long has he been lying here? Wherever here is.

“I like him,” Emily comments with an amused chuckle.

Sasha curls her lips into an angry line. “You’ll soon be laughing on the other side of your face, doofus!” So many years on this earth and out of all the insults she could’ve thrown at him, she seriously chose doofus? It’s vaguely disappointing.

“What the fuck do you want from me anyway?” Oh god, his head. Concentrating on talking and listening is getting somewhat complicated.

“Stops swearing!” Sasha stomps her foot.

Emily rolls her eyes at her sister again. “See it as some form of-“ She steps closer leaning against the glass of his prison- “securing your position.” Her smile is bright and flirty. A little bit like Lydia when she is trying to get her way. He’s seen her using it on a couple of guys at Stanford – and everyone fell for it. Even he finds himself agreeing to some things more likely than he usually would. It’s the eyebrow game. He’s got a weakness for eyebrows perfectly included in expressions.

Stiles scoffs. “Securing my position? As an alpha?” Because that’s not really something he needs to worry about. He doubts outside forces could actually take his power away through killing him since he isn’t a proper werewolf and anybody else will only be alpha when he says so; or his pack decides that he should give up the position. Then he is more than willing to follow their demands. That’s the way he worked around the whole alpha thing. He’ll be the alpha as long as his pack wants him to. If they want someone else, he will give in to their demands. It’s really that simple.

“Securing your position as in being alive,” Sasha explains sounding a lot older than she presented herself only a moment ago.

Stiles raises a brow. Is that a threat? Are they threatening him? He may be behind glass in a terrible situation and in immense pain but past experiences showed that nobody who threatened him had gotten away with it. “And how am I going to secure my position in a fucking prison?”

Sasha curls her lips into a tight line. That girl has a serious problem with swearing – and Stiles is so going to use it against her. Why? Because he can. Just because they have him locked up it doesn’t mean he will be cowering in the corner like an afraid little child lost in a mall. Not even in the slightest.

Emily raps her blunt pink nails against the glass. The sound goes straight to his head, a painfully loud noise almost like a gunshot. “Why do you think we put you here?” The way she never looks away from him makes Stiles somewhat curious; curious about what’s going on in her head, what she is thinking about him. It’s not really so much scrutinising as it is monitoring his every move – and every so often, her eyes flick to his nose almost as if to check whether the black ink became more.

Black ink. It really is the nemeton’s magic physical form. Some form of excess. Excess magic. Well, black kink sounds not as disgusting. That’s probably why the name stuck.

“Because you’re afraid of me.”

“Well, shoot-“ Emily cackles. “Even Annabelle is afraid of you. That’s why we’re here.”

“To kill me?”

“To protect you,” she replies with a click of her tongue. “That’s why we brought your little guard dog.” Still utterly amused, she points at a spot behind Stiles’ left shoulder. “I guess we can let him off his leash now.” She raises her brows, waiting for Stiles to turn around – and he does, uncertain to what he would find if he did. It’s not that he is afraid what he might find but he is nervous, anxious maybe. He knows who his guard dog is, he knows who wouldn’t leave his side no matter what. But he has not a single clue what state he might find him in.

Stiles opens his mouth but Sasha interrupts him. “Keep your threats to yourself. He’s fine.”

Slowly, he turns – and he finds Theo in a corner. He is in full shift, with a belt tightly wrapped around his muzzle and heavy chains around his neck; heavy enough that his head rests on the floor. First as Stiles crouches down beside him, Theo moves. The chains rattle; another too loud noise that makes Stiles flinch. He loses balances and flops ungracefully onto his ass. Well, _great_. He can’t handle metallic sounds, and he wonders why that is. Can that be a symptom of his concussion or is this something entirely else? Does he need to watch out for metal? It could be another prediction. His void isn’t particularly explicit when it comes down to his early warnings. Maybe he needs to listen closer, needs to listen what this sounds resemble. But Lydia is better with the whole auditory premonitions.

With shaking fingers, Stiles unlocks the collar around his neck. Theo raises to his feet waiting patiently as Stiles unwraps the belt, too. “You’re an idiot, you know that?” He runs his fingers over his head. But although it’s a reckless and suicidal idea, Stiles is grateful that Theo followed him; even though it’s a little confusing that he waggles his tail and licks his forearm. Then he closes in and drapes himself over his legs. Stiles frowns at him and the comfortable behaviour. They are imprisoned in what looks like one of the unused cells in Eichen. It wouldn’t be that surprising if he actually managed to get his sorry ass back into Eichen.

“I want a dog,” Emily concludes and Stiles flinches again. He completely forgot they are here. “Let’s get a dog when this is over.”

 _Wait_. They don’t know? They don’t _know_. That’s why Theo behaves like a weirdo.

“When are you going to let me out?” Stiles asks eventually.

Sasha crosses and uncrosses her arms, watching as he pets Theo. He likes the way he can feel his heart beating under his fingertips. It’s grounding, almost calming – and he is warm, so warm. A sharp contrast to the cold air in this place. A sharp contrast to how Stiles is feeling. He can’t help but bury both of his hands in the warm fur, keeping them there and moving only his thumbs in small circles. Theo makes a sound of content, moving around until he faces Stiles’ stomach and huffs.

“We’re going to let you out when the barrier’s gone,” Emily explains eventually, “Shouldn’t take too long now.”   

Stiles is quiet for a while. He doesn’t understand. Why exactly would they hide him until his barrier is gone? That doesn’t make even the slightest lick of sense. They sent Donovan after him. They told Donovan to _kidnap_ him. Now they are acting like they want to protect him. But from what? The nogitsunes are dead. They were the ones who are a threat to him. Unless- unless someone else lied to them. _She sent me to kill you_. She. Not they. But the nogitsunes only talked about _them_. So why would only one kitsunes free Donovan. _That’s all_ we _wanted to see_. That’s what Sasha said after Stiles had finally managed to stop Donovan. _Change of plan_.

“It’s Annabelle-” He realises suddenly. “She’s the one-“

Sasha scoffs. “She wouldn’t even know you were here if your friends hadn’t told her.”

Theo raises his head.

“You mean-“

“Why do you think we sent Dub to kidnap Kira?” Emily raises a brow tapping a nail against the glass again. Stiles closes his eyes at the sound. “Well, Dain was a loose cannon. He got what he deserved.”

 _Sent them_? “You worked with them?”  

“Everyone heard about a nogitsune possessing a human,” Sasha replies cocking her head. It’s hard to tell if she takes the whole talk serious or if she is just plain bored. Her expression is unreadable. “We were looking for you. You should be thankful we found you before Annabelle did.” Everything began with the nogitsune. It conjured up a fucking snowball effect – and he thought the worst thing he needed to worry about was craving the power he lost after he had pushed the nogitsune out of his body.

“I'd suggest you rest up now,” Emily lifts something of the ground. It looks a lot like one of his backpacks. She puts it in the slot. “We’ve gathered a few clothes and a first aid from your house. You should look after that side of yours before it gets worse.” With that she slams the slot shut and grabs her sister's hand. She winks at him – Stiles can feel a low growl rumbling in Theo's chest – then the two of them stroll down the dark hallway.

Neither of them move until both kitsunes vanished around a corner. Stiles can hear the faint noise of a door squeaking. A second later Theo raises to his feet, shifting back into human form. Stiles has never seen him do that before and it’s honestly more weird than impressive to witness it. First the anatomy shifts, legs and arms get longer and thicker, the muzzle vanishes as well as the ears, until he looks like a human in desperate need of shaving. Then the fur is pulled inside his skin, which looks even weirder. Now, he’s got Theo crouching butt-naked in front of him. Not that the view is bad or anything because, holy crap, he’s got a great ass. But it’s slightly distracting and inconvenient in their current situation. “Dude, pants.”

Theo shoots him a look. “ _Dude_ ,” he echoes shaking his head.

“Why don’t you wear pants?” Stiles asks trying his hardest to keep his eyes locked on Theo's shoulder and arms, very nicely toned shoulders and arms – okay, he was definitively hit very hard  because his brain is not up to the task right now.

Theo grabs the backpack. “Because vampires don’t sparkle.”

“Vampires are real?” Stiles asks then blinks. Why do sparkling vampires ring a bell? He’s heard that somewhere before. “Wait, don’t actually answer that. I think I have a mild concussion.”

Theo rummages through the contents of the backpack. “If you don’t understand a reference, I assume it’s more than a mild discussion.” He pulls Stiles' grey sweatpants out and drops the backpack. “You look like shit by the way.”

Stiles frowns at him. “Well, guess you’re still pissed about my treatment,” he mutters pulling the backpack closer. After Theo left, Stiles didn’t exactly have the chance to apologize and they still have to talk about what Donovan said. Love is a too weighty word to be ignored. But Eichen’s cellar isn’t really the best place to discuss something like that; and if he tries hard enough, the right opportunity to discuss might never arise.

“If you expect me to be nice to you _and_ save your sorry ass, you shouldn’t have dumped me,” Theo remarks slipping into Stiles’ sweatpants.

Well, that’s what he is angry about? The break-up that wasn’t really a break-up? “You mean, I shouldn’t have postponed the start.”

“You can’t postpone something that already happened.”

Theo has no fricking clue what the hell Stiles can do. “Nothing happened,” he mutters and Theo squints at him. He doesn’t need to say ‘fucking idiot’ out loud to make the insult noticeable. “Well, at least nothing dating-wise.”

“I don’t know, Stiles,” Theo replies flopping down in front of him. “You didn’t have sex with Malia although you two dated for a while.” Well, he’s got a point. But there’s also one night stands or friends with benefits – or pack mates with benefits in their case. Whatever it is. No emotions involved. _Do you have any idea how much that screwed up kid loves you_? Ha. Well. Shit. Theo is a thousand steps ahead of him. Stiles has just grasped the concept of liking him more than friends when Theo has already solved the problem.

Stiles licks his lips. “Maybe we shouldn’t talk about this here.”

“Or ever.” Theo pulls the first aid box out of the backpack without looking at him. Although his voice is void of emotion, Stiles notices his clenched jaw.

“I told you, I want this- us,” Stiles insists because it’s the truth. Of course, starting a relationship with Theo is a risky move. But he isn’t opposed to the general idea. In fact, he really wants to try.

Theo finally looks at him. “Just not right now.”

“It’s a bad time.”

“That’s what I don’t get. For better or worse, isn’t that what’s a relationship is supposed to be?” Great. Now Theo is giving _him_ relationship advice? Not that either of them is actually in the position to give any kind of advice on this particular subject, but Stiles thought he’d be the one who has a little more experience given Theo’s overall frame of mind.

Stiles rubs the back of his head. “That’s a wedding vow.”

“The only difference between a marriage and a relationship is that you have the same last name.”

That’s one way to see it. A very old-school way, considering that people don’t actually need to take the last name of their partner anymore. “Also, lower taxes,” Stiles deadpans. Because being a family not only by choice but also by law isn’t worth mentioning.

Theo squints at him again. “Listen-“

“Don’t _listen_ me,” Stiles interrupts, “Everything that comes after listen sucks.”

“Says the guy who dumped me.”

“Fair point.”

Theo offers him the antiseptic wipes. “I’m always gonna be looking out for you,” he whispers. “That’s all I’m trying to say.”

You don’t need to say I love you to say I love you, right? That’s what his mother had always said when Stiles had asked her why she and his dad never really said it. Because Melissa and Raphael used to say it all the time. But it didn’t save them. It didn’t save them at all. So maybe words are overrated. Maybe words don’t mean as much as actions do – and Theo proved more than once that he means it.

This isn’t the best place. This isn’t a place where the truth should come out. Eichen is a place where they hide the truth, where they hide what lurks in the shadows.

So perhaps it isn’t a good idea to spill the truth in a place like this.

Stiles’ mouth has never worked in his favour. Why should his body be any better? It’s not too surprising as he moves into Theo’s space to press their lips together. At least it’s not too surprising for him. But Theo is startled at the action, startled enough that he pulls away from him – something he’s never done before. Stiles would lie if he said it doesn’t scare the shit out of him.

“Stiles.” His name is nothing more than a breath, yet it carries everything he needs to know.

“I’m sorry.” Stiles licks his lips. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to-“ _what_? What didn’t he mean to do? He wanted to kiss Theo and he did. He still wants to kiss Theo and he won’t. Because right now, he isn’t allowed to. Right now, he isn’t in the position to do anything like that – and it’s his own damn fault he is in this position in the first place.

Without looking at him, Stiles takes the antiseptic wipes.

“Stiles-“

“No, it’s-“ It shouldn’t be this awkward. It shouldn’t be. But for some reason, it is. He knows what Theo feels for him. He knows that there is a giant cliff between their emotions, a just about insurmountable imbalance. After putting their relationship on hold, he can’t just throw Theo bits and pieces of what he wants when Stiles can’t give his all to him. Not fully. Not yet. Of course, he wants to. He would like it to be easy. But things aren’t easy. Not when Stiles is involved. Then they are never easy. Then they are tightly intertwined with anxiety and idiocy.

Stiles sits back on his heels.

“Do you want me to help you?” Theo asks.

“I’ll try it myself,” Stiles mutters fumbling with the wipe’s package. But as he gets in a more comfortable position against the wall behind him, water hits his butt and legs. “What the-?” Confused, he gets up and turns around. There is water coming in through the ground. In fact, there is a lot of water coming in through the cracks in the floor. Within seconds it reaches their ankles and it rises steadily. More importantly, it rises fast.

“Huh.”

“Huh?” Theo hisses. “We need to get out of here.”

“Well, am _I_ the one with superhuman strength?”

“This is a place build to keep supernatural creatures in!” Theo snaps. “What do you want me to do? Punch the glass?”

“Yes, Theo!” Stiles yells. “Punch the fucking glass!”

 


	21. The Takedown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy crap. I was hit so hard by a writers block - and it's just this chapter. The last one is already planned and outlined. But, man, this was a bloody mountain to scramble over.

“I get the feeling this isn’t working out,” Stiles concludes after Theo slammed his fist for the umpteenth time against the glass. It didn’t even crack. Nothing but the blood from Theo’s knuckles indicates that anything at all happened to it. Which isn’t particularly helpful in their current situation. Not at all.

Theo massages the back of his hand. “You don’t say.”

“Don’t be sarcastic!” Stiles snaps. “We’re going to drown.”

“ _What_?” Theo hisses, “You’d rather I freak out?”

Stiles rolls his eyes. They are both agitated, which isn’t that surprising given their current situation. But they really don’t have the time to fight now. About anything. They need to find a way out. Fighting is just going to stop him from thinking; and thinking is what’s most likely to save their asses. “Open that slot,” he orders.

“Why?” Theo crosses his arms. “There’s more water coming in than what would go out through there.”

“Oh my god- just fucking do it!”

“How about you try to stop the water?” Theo replies although he turns around to do what Stiles wanted from him. It might not do anything but it might give them the few seconds they need in the end – but with the water almost as high as his collarbones, those seconds have probably already gone lost somewhere along the way. Still, Theo dives under, fumbling with the slot.

Stiles does the same, trying to find anything that might stop the water inflow. But there is nothing he can do. It comes from everywhere, seemingly; out of every crack, of every fissure, every bit of broken floor. There is nothing he can do about it unless he finds a way to cement the whole floor within seconds. Screaming for help won’t do them any good either because this part of Eichen seems to be a part where usually nobody comes along – the part where Valack had been imprisoned. It’s high security. Even if someone hears them, they won’t be here in time. The water is coming too fast.

He surfaces.

“So?” Theo asks. They are treading water already and the ceiling is getting troublingly close.

Stiles glances at him, draws a breath and dives again. He’s not going to drown here – and he’s so not going to discuss anything with Theo. They really don’t have the seconds to spare. God. It would be so fucking helpful if Emily and Sasha hadn’t left. Unless they were both lying their asses off. Although that doesn’t make a lot of sense. They already had him imprisoned. It’s not like they needed to do anything else. But they weren’t lying. They have been far too relaxed to be telling bullshit – and now that he is thinking about it, he suddenly can’t forget the way Emily has been tapping her nail against the glass.

What if he-?

He’s a void and Theo said inside water he is stronger. Annabelle confirmed that. Elements give him a power surge. So, what if he did it, too? What if he wanted it to happen? Stiles follows an instinct here, a line of thought that came out of nowhere. Maybe he should just go for it. Maybe he should just- Stiles swims towards the glass. He presses both his hands against it. It’s curiosity, it’s a test. He honestly doesn’t expect anything to come out of it. But as he taps the glass with his index finger, as his finger nail connects with the glass, it cracks and from that crack a thousand small lines make their way through it. Their way out. It takes merely a few seconds then the glass explodes and both he and Theo are hurled out of the cell, alongside every single ounce of water.

They cough and they spit and they rub water out of their eyes.

“That didn’t take forever or anything,” Theo mutters pulling Stiles too his feet. It’s dizzying, a movement too fast that he can’t help but he sidesteps in order to get his balance back. Theo reacts immediately, wrapping his arm tightly around Stiles' waist to secure him. Although pissed about his attitude, Stiles leans onto him. Because suddenly, his headache is back, more vicious and demanding. Brutal. He can feel something sharp against his scalp, forcing its way into his skull.

He stumbles again taking Theo by surprise.

“Something's wrong.” Stiles can’t feel Theo's touch anymore. Everything is a painful buzz, his whole body full of burning wasps. His skin prickles with needles stung from the inside.

“No, Stiles. Stay with me,” Theo pulls him higher again but Stiles can’t place one foot in front of the other. It makes Theo stop. He wraps Stiles’ arms around his shoulders and lifts him of the floor. During another time, he would have snapped at Theo and told him he was fine, he could move on his own – but not now. “Talk to me,” Theo adds eventually.

They are moving quicker now.

“You think it’s like a bite?”

“What?” Theo feels stressed, panicked.

Stiles tries to move his head a little so he can look at him but his cheek is pressed against Theo's and he can’t properly do so. “Being a void,” he mutters eventually.

“I don’t understand.”

“I mean,” Stiles says and his words become harder to form, “waking up. Not everyone survives an alpha's bite.”

Theo hoists him up a little further. “Don’t say something like that,” he hisses, “You’ll be fine.”

“Don’t know-“

“It’s just the barrier breaking.” Does he know that or is he saying that to calm both of them? Because it doesn’t feel like just the barrier breaking – and he feels really, really terrible. And weak.

Stiles doesn’t think this is the barrier breaking. Or maybe it is. He doesn’t know. But he feels horrible. Very much so. The burning has become a fire, has become a lightning strike. And he just wants it to stop. He wants it to end.

“Stiles!”

He flinches.

“You still with me?” Theo asks.

Stiles hums again.

“Then keep talking,” Theo adds, “You usually never stop.”

Stiles frowns. “You love me.” For a second it feels like Theo’s grip is weakening. “I mean that,” he corrects, “me talking.” His thoughts are crisscrossing. He is sure, he wanted to say something else. But now that he started the topic, he can continue down that road. “Donovan said you love me.”

Theo stops moving for a movement. “And you believe him?”

Something cracks. The sound comes from the floor but Stiles is too busy holding onto his thoughts before they slip and vanish into the pain. “Did he lie?”

“I thought you don’t want to talk about it,” Theo replies.

A jolt goes through Stiles’ body. It’s like they’ve landed after a fall. Did they fall? They could have fallen. Maybe the ground cracked. Maybe they’ve fallen into the ground. Can they fall into the ground?

Stiles scrunches up his nose. The world around him is shrinking, slipping oddly.

“You love me.”

“You said that already.”

“I like that,” he mumbles. The pain leaves. But his surroundings do, too. Like Theo. He doesn’t want Theo to vanish. He really doesn't. But he does. Everything goes away. His warmth, his scent – the soft beating of his heart and the press of his fingertips.

“ _Stiles_!?”

“I think he's-“

“Don’t say it!”

“Theo!”

Silence. Such a long silence. Why did everyone stop talking?

“We’re not giving up on him, do you understand?!”

They are talking again. That’s good. He likes their voices. They’re familiar. He’s heard them before. Somewhere. Someplace.

“I’m just saying-“

“ _Shut up._ ”

They sound angry. All those voices sound so angry. He doesn’t understand. It’s nice here. Peaceful. They shouldn’t be angry in a place like this.

“Come on, Stiles.”

It gets cold. The louder those voices become, the colder it gets. Maybe that’s why they are so angry. He wouldn’t want to be in a place where it is cold either.

“Wake up!”

His chest hurts. It’s cold and his chest hurts. Why does his chest hurt? What happened? And where even is he? What is this place?

“Stiles!”

Suddenly, he is yanked out of that weird place and dropped on muddy ground. It’s even colder here and his body hurts worse than wherever he was before. But he’s breathing. He is _breathing_ and when he opens his eyes, it isn’t dark anymore. There is the sky above him, the weakened rays of sunshine through tree crowns – and suddenly, people are looking down on him. Three people to be exact.

“Scott?”

He’s pulled of the floor and into his Scott's arms. It’s warmer there but still cold. He is shivering. But he is breathing. Before he wasn't. That’s good. He needs to breathe to be alive – but why wasn't he breathing before? Scott rocks him like a little child. It’s nice. It feels warm in his arms. Maybe he could fall asleep again. Nobody would mind. Nobody would mind if he just closed his eyes and slept again.

“Stiles!” He startles. Theo is hovering over him, close to his Scott’s shoulder. Funny. They don’t usually like each other – and why does he look so panicked? He doesn’t understand. Everything is fine, isn’t it? “You need to heal, do you understand?” Theo crouches down beside him now grabbing his hand – and Liam is there, too, pale and wide-eyed crouching at Theo's side. “Don’t fall asleep.”

Healing? He feels fine, though, at least aside from the cold and general ache in his body. But he lied on uncomfortable ground. No wonder his bones feel like shit.

“Can you trigger it?” Liam asks. Stiles wants to rub the lines of worry away.

Theo draws his eyebrows in. “I can try.”

“Then _try_ ,” Liam yells.

“Okay, okay-“ Theo moves his hands slightly and Scott stops rocking him. Everyone is so serious. “Stiles, I want you to focus in healing. You need to will the pain away.” He waits a beat hesitating. “Can you do that?”

Stiles looks at him quietly for a while. It seems to be important to him, that Stiles does it. But he is glancing at Scott, then Liam. They all seem to want him to try. They all look so determined. “Yeah,” he mutters, “can do.”

Theo nods. _Good_ , he seems to say without opening his mouth. Then he snaps his wrist. His bone breaking is as loud as it is painful and Stiles can’t help but cry out in pain.

“Focus on the pain,” Theo tries to sound comforting but his voice is hectic, stressed. “Make it go away.” He puts a hand on Stiles’ cheek. “Tell your body to heal; you can do it.”

But focusing on the pain and telling his body how to heal feel like two completely different scenarios, two things that can’t go hand in hand with each other – and he can’t concentrate. The pain of his broken wrist adds to everything else going on, heightens the discomfort and agony.

“Stiles-“ The reality comes finally crashing back into him. Scott. _Scott_. He isn’t friends with Scott anymore. Scott hasn’t been here with him through any of this. Scott hasn’t been helping him. “He's not healing,” Scott says unhelpfully – and Stiles tries to sit up, to pull away, to do something to bring distance between them. Because there is anger curling around him. But there is also the roar of Scott’s spark vibrating underneath his skin. It’s not as distinct as Peter’s but oddly familiar. Maybe because they are connected.

And he is pulling from his spark.

“Theo-“

“Stiles, focus on healing.”

“No,” Stiles mutters. He’s more awake now, more aware despite the pain. But he needs to get away. “Theo.”

“Stiles, stop,” Scott says.

“No.” He moves again, struggling further.

“Fucking-“ Theo pulls him out of Scott's arms and into his own. It’s not particularly comfortable and his side hurts in this half sitting position. But Theo is quiet. Nothing is distracting him. Theo is safe. Because he cannot accidentally draw from him. So, he hides his face at the crook of Theo's neck and closes his eyes. Healing.

 _Healing_.

The lightning strike becomes a fire, becomes a burn, becomes an ache. His wrist snaps back into place first, then the infection in his side subsides. The pain in his bones stops echoing through his body. At last, his headache disappears and he can breathe normally again. But he doesn’t let go of Theo just yet. In fact, he presses his fingers against his shoulder blades. Theo curls his arms tighter around him. Despite being healed, he is still horribly cold – and suddenly, the distorted, out of frequency roar is back.

“I can smell you,” Theo says suddenly.

Stiles stiffens and let’s go of him. Theo does the same.

“Your runes,” Liam gasps, “They’re gone.”

That means his chemo signals will be all over the place again. That means his emotions will be affecting the supernatural creatures around him. It’ll make everything so much more complicated. He can’t even draw a rune on his body to prevent it – and after the almost drowning incident, he probably doesn’t have the time to run home and get his quill. Annabelle will sooner or later find out that he’s not died in the goddamn cell her gone astray cousins have put him in with the idiotic attempt to protect him.

“At least I’m in full control now,” Stiles guesses.

Theo raises brow. “Let’s hope you stay alive long enough to get something out of it.”

“Well, aren’t you a debbie-downer.”

Scoffing, Theo gets to his feet offerings Stiles his hand. He watches it for a while, noticing Liam standing up as well as Scott. He and Theo stay on opposite sides again. At least their priorities are the same; keeping Stiles’ ass alive. But that is where their list starts and ends – if he stays, this will be a continuing problem. If he leaves, he cannot keep an eye on the three of them, because Malia cannot be forgotten on this situation. After all, she is going to be the one who will wreck the most havoc, she will be the one who doesn’t hesitate to actually do something. Staying means being involved in a lot of trouble. Going means not being able to step in when disaster is about to strike. With a sigh, Stiles takes his hand. “By the way,” he adds pulling the wet clothes away from his skin in disgust, “don't tell my dad what happened or he'll be escorting my aas personally back to Palo Alto.”

Theo looks at him with eyebrows drawn in.

“Wait, you’re going to stay?” Liam realises.

Stiles nods catching Theo's eye. “I guess I have to give certain things a chance.”

“Sounds good to me,” Theo says, the corner of his mouth twitches into a lopsided grin. Yeah, of course it does. Stiles wonders, for the first time, whether Theo would have stayed here if he had gone back to Palo Alto, back to studying – back to a normal life. Maybe he would have come with them, maybe he would have settled for what Stiles gave him and made himself an easier life in a different city. Maybe he would have left completely, starting over new. Stiles wonders, if he would have let Theo leave just like that.

“ _Stiles_!”

He spins around trying to pinpoint where the voice comes from. Sasha is careening through the woods, running at full speed. She is fast, even for a kitsune. Then again, she and her sister could roam through a secure place like Eichen. The mountain ash hasn’t even bothered them in the slightest. But then again, they are like a bajillion years old. One day, you’re most likely immune to this kind of thing. Sasha comes to a stop only inches away from him.

“She’s coming,” she pants pushing her hands on her knees, “We tried to fend her off but she’s- she’s coming.”

“Where’s Emily?” Stiles asks.

Sasha looks at him – and it doesn’t need much more than this to make him understand. Emily is dead. She won’t be coming back. She died protecting her sister. She died protecting him. The least he can do is repay the favour by protecting Sasha and getting rid of Annabelle.

“Stiles-“ Theo grabs his arm suddenly pulling him back.

There is a woman approaching. A woman with brown hair, with jeans and a blouse. A woman that wears blood on her hands and the same colour on her lips. A woman that looks like a soccer mom but carries a katana. It’s a woman who doesn’t hesitate to kill her family – she stands for everything a void shouldn’t stand for.

Stiles frees himself from Theo’s grasp. “I was waiting for you to show coward face.”

“Oh my god,” Liam mutters.

Theo grabs his sleeve, knowing better than to touch his skin. Not now. Not when Stiles doesn’t know how to stop his void from taking.  

“You’re too stubborn to get rid of just like that, it seems.” Annabelle stops a few metres in front of him. She doesn’t even bother to raise the katana as a threat. It’s pointed down, her defences open. Obviously, she doesn’t take him as a seriously. Which is good. People tend to underestimate him. But Stiles would underestimate himself as well. He’s basically just woken up. There have been bits and pieces of power before but that can hardly be compared to what is going on now. He can feel _everything_. He is very aware of every single bit of energy inside him, of every power source around him. He notices the angry growl of Liam’s spark, the out of frequency roar of Theo’s and Scott’s spark’s roar. He notices the whispers of the wind, the distant murmur of a creek, the soft voice of the forest around him. He senses the brush of fire; Sasha’s spark.

Stiles curls his hands into fists. Thing is, he doesn’t have a single clue how to use any of this. He doesn’t know if he can conjure a fire out of what he senses from Sasha. He doesn’t know if he can make the water or forest work in his favour. “Really? One try and you’re already giving up?”

“You’re not the first void I killed.”

“So I heard,” Stiles deadpans, “Killing your own species? How pathetic is that?”

“Try her own family,” Sasha spits, “Where do you think she’s got her power from?”

“You killed your family for power?” Scott asks.

Liam snarls. “That’s sick.”

And nothing new particularly new, all things considered. Peter did it. Deucalion as well. Theo did it, too – which he seems to be very aware of considering that he isn’t only particularly quiet but also shifts uncomfortably behind Stiles.

“Then she killed her daughter,” Sasha accuses pointing a finger at her cousin. “Thank god Caleb saw right through you and protected her son. He should’ve ripped your throat out.”

“Well, he didn’t,” Annabelle replies glancing at her nails for a second. That bitch is so going to die. What fucked up person kills their own daughter? What fucked up person is _proud_ of killing their own daughter? “And now I’m going to end our line. It’s about time. I’m sick of hunting down those bastard children.”

“Excuse me?” Stiles raises a brow. “I’ll come from a perfectly healthy family. My parents were married before I was born.”

Annabelle doesn’t seem to think him that funny because in the next second, his ass is lifted of the ground and pushed towards her. That would be wind then, Stiles realises as he slams uncomfortably hard on the ground. Well, they’re off to a great start. Then again, how much energy does her spark still contain? She tried drowning him, she killed Emily – and by the amount of blood on her katana and her hands, it doesn’t seem like she has done so by sucking her spark dry. Which means that she might not have too much energy left – and he is on home turf. She is not going to get any more if he gets his will.

Stiles rolls away as the katana comes down, then jumps to his feet. “Really?” He asks, “You can’t drown me and now you’re trying to stab me?”

Annabelle swipes at him again. Stiles dodges, barely missing the sharp edge of it. But his clothes don’t have as much luck. The katana cuts through his sweatshirt cutting it up and open.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Theo moving in. If he touches Annabelle, she will be able to regain some power and possibly kill him. Stiles doesn’t want to know what power she can gain from a chimera – and they’re not going to find out. Just before Theo is out of reach, Stiles grabs his wrist. Without hesitating, he hurls him back and away from Annabelle, straight into Liam, who charged in after Theo. They crash into each other and slam to the floor with an audible groan. “Sasha!” She seems to understand what Stiles wants from her without him putting his ask into words. Heat surges up behind him cutting him of from his pack.

“You think you can beat me?” Annabelle asks; and her tone is a faint reminder of the nogitsune. He finds himself waiting for the obligatory _I’m a thousand years old, you can’t beat me_. It never comes.

“No,” Stiles replies honestly. He doesn’t think he can beat her fair and square and he is more than right about this. But Stiles hasn’t lived that long or survived this much because of brute strength or incredible magic powers. He survived because he knows how to use his brain and take his time; also, he’s pretty good at improvising. “But I can outsmart you.” And here’s to hoping his mouth isn’t going to get him into even more trouble than he already is.

 _Portion your strength_.

Annabelle strikes at him again. Although his first idea is to repeat the oni encounter, he moves out of the way as electricity curls around her blade. Yeah. Not going to touch that. But if he’s lucky, she’ll continue to waste her energy away. Hopefully, him being on home turf is going to give him some sort of advantage because if not, and she can fill her power from the fire behind him and the forest surrounding them, he is not going to make it. Not even in the slightest. Honestly, he is banking it on her arrogance. Arrogance is what has ruined all of the villains he encountered. Considering how little history knows about voids, Annabelle must have killed most of them before they even woke up. So, she probably doesn’t expect someone to fight back; especially not someone who has little to no control over what he is or can do – and that could be his saving grace.

But first he needs to get there, which seems to become a challenge in itself. Annabelle is fast on her feet, and the kitsune heritage is very obvious in the way she makes use of that goddamn katana. She’s fast, quick attacks to his chest that would hit him spot on if he didn’t keep his distance. But Stiles keeps up with her, which is another miracle in itself. He’s not going to think about it too much, though, because that might lead to him fucking up.  

Twice her katana comes dangerously close to his throat.  

And then, he sees it.

The electricity around the blade vanishes.

Stiles dashes forward. Now, he’ll see whether or not Theo’s onetime lesson in fighting has actually done something beneficial to him. He grabs the katana with one hand, again completely ignoring the sharp pain ensuing, and turns slamming his free hand down on her wrist. He did it faster than he thought he could and with incredible force. Before he is able to slam his elbow in her face, Annabelle rams the handle of the katana onto his breastbone and hurls him away. She tries to push him into the flames behind him but the gust of wind hitting him is barely worth mentioning.

“That’s all you can do?”

She comes at him with the katana again. Stiles dashes into the movement. Theo would probably kill him for this risky move. But he reached the desired effect. The attack swipes over his head, as he ducks yet again. He grabs her wrist with one and her throat with the other hand. “Let go,” he orders squeezing his fingers around her larynx. “Drop the katana.”

Annabelle tries to free her arm but just as Stiles expected, her spark is already empty. She didn’t expect him to fight back. She probably wasn’t even aware that the barrier in his head is gone. How often did she hide behind other kitsunes? How often did she kill a void that hasn’t even woken up? And for _what_?

“I said drop it.”

But her mind isn’t as easily accessible as Donovan's has been – and he can’t go all in like he did with him. His power source is cut off, too, and he doesn’t actually know how to borrow power from his surroundings. But he needs to get into her head before his spark is empty as well.

“Don’t fight me,” Stiles hisses, “Let me in.”

She chokes.

“Drop it.”

Stiles can feel her muscles move and the katana falls from her fingers. “How does it feel to be stabbed in the back by your own family?” He asks pushing her away. Annabelle drops to her knees as Stiles grabs the katana. “You killed your own daughter.”

“I killed a monster.”

“She was like _you_ ,” Stiles spits, “She was your daughter. You should’ve protected her.”

“She almost killed her father.”

“You almost killed your whole family for power.”

“I needed to protect my pack.”

Stiles looks down at her. She doesn’t beg, she doesn’t look like she feels anything at all. This answer is clear as day for her – and she would do it over and over again, no matter how many innocent bystanders she had to kill, no matter how many children she had to murder. He can feel something shift inside him, something lodge and take root. She won’t stop. She will come back – and next time, she will be prepared. He is not going to risk it.

“And I’ll protect mine.”

Stiles focuses his energy on the katana, every little ounce, everything he can gather – and slams it into the ground. The crack is a gunshot through the woods, loud enough that Stiles flinches at the sound. “Go back, where you came from.” The forest floor splits in two, opening up further and further.

Stiles expects someone to come out of it, someone to pull her under like it happened with Theo – but there is nothing there, nobody comes. She slips into the emptiness without a sound, without a hint of an emotion. There is not a single thing she regrets, not even killing her own daughter because of her own delusions. Maybe Carman turned her children into monsters but at least she did it because she loved too much and grieved even more. Annabelle turned into a monster unable to understand that she was the monster all along. Maybe she needed help to better understand it but Stiles wasn’t ready to risk the life of his pack in order to find out.

He yanks the katana back out. Given enough power, it can be turned into a key. That’s what Donovan said, right? Well, Stiles can’t risk this cell to be opened ever again. But his knees are so weak, he doubts he can stand much longer much less break the katana.

“Theo?”

The fire behind him dies and with that takes the heat away. Stiles almost topples over but he manages to fall onto his ass instead on his face. Which is a tour de force in itself. A second later, Theo is kneeling at his side. Then Liam and Scott. Then Sasha appears in front of him, carefully taking the katana out of his hand. “Thank you,” she whispers her voice almost broken. _Thank you_ for killing my cousin. _Thank you_ for doing what I couldn’t do. Honestly, Stiles can’t imagine a time in which he would be able to kill or even severely hurt his dad or someone from his pack. Stiles can’t imagine a time in which he could do anything to Scott; even though he is still very angry with him.

“Yeah, no problem.”

“Are you okay?”

“I just- need a second to get my vigour back, I guess,” Stiles mutters. Theo curls his arm around his chest to pull him close, pull him in but he is careful not to touch his skin – it will always be like this, won’t it? As soon as his void is awake, nobody supernatural will be able to touch him. He can’t have any physical contact then; unless he draws the runes over and over on his pack or until he learns to control it. If that is even something he can learn to control.

Sasha smiles at him with tears in her eyes. She is so small, so tiny and no she has no one. “I will leave you to it then,” she says.

“Do you have a place to stay?” Liam asks.

Sasha nods. “I will go back to Caleb.”

“He’s still alive?” Stiles asks. He is very aware that werewolves age slower or different at least, as well as kitsunes do – point in case would be Noshiko and Sasha as well. But werewolves don’t usually age _that_ slow.

“Annabelle cursed him,” Sasha explains staring down at the katana, the one most likely belonged to Emily, “She wants him to suffer the loss of his family for as long as possible because she makes him responsible for losing hers.” Stiles doubts it’s possible to ever get over losing your daughter. He doesn’t even want to imagine what pain Caleb has been going through all these years. “She tried to kill her daughter twice, did you know that?” Sasha adds suddenly, “The first time she was twelve and Annabelle got a bad hunch. For some reason, she thought it was Helena. Probably because she accidentally took from Caleb’s spark. He saved her and ran. They managed to hide for seven years.” All the fear he must’ve gone through. Every day, every single fucking hour of the day, Caleb must’ve expected to lose his daughter to the woman who should have protected her in the first place.

Stiles curls his fingers around the grass. “Tell him I’m sorry I killed his first love.”

“His first love died long before today,” Sasha replies, “Annabelle was different before she’d come back.” What’s dead, should stay dead. That’s no new information. Messing with the balance is always a dangerous business; especially Stiles should be aware of that now.

“Can I ask you one last question?”

“Anything.”

“What’s your name?” Stiles inquires. Sasha looks at him in confusion. “Your real name.”

She smiles. “Aithne.”

“Fire,” Theo says.

Sasha nods still smiling. “I hope-“ She stops biting the inside of her cheek. “I hope, if we see each other again, it’s under different circumstances.”

“You’re always welcome here.”

 

“They’re fine.” Theo puts his hand on his thigh, squeezing slightly. “You’d know if they weren’t.” But Stiles is anxious either way. It made sense that they split up. Lydia and Kira had left to tell Jordan that Donovan is roaming the city. They immediately took the Sheriff to the loft in order to protect him better. Isaac had picked up Liam and Mason from school and decided to call Scott for help. Theo had followed Stiles so they could pick up his scent since Stiles’ own was still hidden away. It’s not anymore – and it’s already affecting those around him. Liam is twitchy on the passenger’s seat, always turning around and looking out of the window. Scott glances in the rear-view mirror at every given chance and drives as if his foot is always slipping off the accelerator. Theo, who slipped into a spare hoodie he had in his car – probably in case he needs to spontaneously turn – is the only one who doesn’t seem to be that affected by the chemo signals; or he can hide it better.

Stiles glances at him, then he hovers his hand over Theo’s. It’s a question more than the hesitant display of affection because he will take something away from him as soon as he touches him. But Theo doesn’t mind. He intertwines their fingers like it’s normal and Stiles closes his eyes at the familiar feeling of his spark. “Take what you need,” Theo says.

“Tell me when to stop.”

“Stiles?” Liam turns around, his phone in hand, “It’s your dad.”

Stiles reaches for the phone, fingers shaking slightly. He made the three of them promise that his dad would never find out that he’d almost died again; that this time he has been dead for quite some time. If he weren’t a supernatural creature, Stiles doubts he would have woken up again. “Hey, Pops.”

“Hey, kiddo.” His father’s voice calms him down enough that he doesn’t feel like his heart is exploding out of his chest. “How are you?”

“Good,” Stiles replies immediately, “Tired but good.”

“When are you here?”

“We’re on the road to the preserve,” Stiles explains. “Twentyish minutes.” Out of the corner of his eye, he notices Theo scrunching up his nose. It’s an odd Deja-vu. He’s seen that look on his face before. He’s caught a scent, one that worries him. “What? What is it?”

“Donovan-“

“ _Scott!_ ” Liam screams.

Stiles leans forward to see better. Donovan is standing in the middle of the road, too close for Scott to get the car to a stop, yet enough that he might get away with being hit by it – especially since he’s stronger now. But Scott slams his feet onto the break anyway. The car slitters dangerously. “ _Scott_!” Stiles yells, “Scott don’t stop the car!” Wendigos don’t heal. They cannot heal like werecreatures do. If they hit Donovan with enough speed- “Scott, listen to me!”

“Stiles?” His father yells, “Stiles? What’s going on?!” He drops the phone and grabs Scott’s shoulder with his free hand.

“Liam, take the wheel!” Stiles orders, “Aim for Donovan.” He shakes Scott’s shoulder, while Liam fights against Scott’s grip on the steering wheel. “Drive faster.”

“What? _No_!”

“Scott, step on it!”

“No, I can’t just-“

“ _Do it_!” Stiles can feel the exact moment the resistance around Scott’s mind breaks and he slips into his head. Now he just needs to keep his grip on the control. “Step on it,” Stiles urges curling his fingers around his shoulder. “Don’t stop.” He hates doing this. He despises himself for taking control over Scott’s actions. It was different with Donovan and Annabelle. He doesn’t much care for their wellbeing; he doesn’t much care for them at all. But this is Scott. This was his best friend.

“Stiles-“ Theo pulls at his hand. Immediately, Stiles lets go of him.

Then they hit Donovan. He slams onto the windshield, which cracks under the impact. Then he is hurled off and over the car, coming to the ground with a thud. Stiles’ control over Scott is ripped away as he turns around to watch. Immediately, Scott hits the break and the car comes to a stop, skidding over the stony road. As soon as they stand, Liam turns to look at Stiles breathing heavily. It’s quiet inside, nobody moves and nobody does anything; it’s like time has stopped.

Until Theo rushes out of the car.

Stiles follows him immediately, ready to stop him from heading headfirst into danger. But he doesn’t do anything but look down at Donovan whose bones are broken in multiple places. He’s still alive, choking on his own blood. It’s a too familiar picture to ignore completely – and again Donovan is staring at him, baring his teeth. But he doesn’t bleed mercury. He bleeds like everyone else here.

Theo bends down and snaps his neck. Stiles flinches at the sound. But he is grateful and relieved. Donovan’s death means everyone safety is assured. He doesn’t have to worry about getting tortured again. His father is safe. Still, seeing the light fade a second time. It’s not as hard as it has been the first time. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t get to him at all.

“Is he dead?” Liam asks approaching slowly.

Stiles forces himself to look away from Donovan’s unmoving body. But the words get stuck in his throat as he locks eyes with Scott. He knows that expression. He’s seen it before. He’s seen it the last time Scott believed Stiles had done something that was unforgivable. Well, at least this time he has a right to do that – but that right only reaches so far. It wasn’t okay to take control over him; not even in the slightest. It was okay to kill Donovan in order to protect themselves.

“Yeah, he’s dead,” Theo answers taking Stiles’ hand again, “We probably should call Parrish.”  

“You killed him,” Scott says eventually, “You used me to kill him.”

“I snapped his neck,” Theo replies immediately, “I killed him.”

But Scott isn’t swayed. “Stiles, what did you do?”

“What needed to be done,” Theo interrupts before Stiles can even think about forming a reply.

Liam rubs the back of his neck. “He’s right,” he says and his voice gets stronger the more words leave his lips, “Donovan wouldn’t have stopped. He would’ve killed Stiles.”

“There had to be another way.”

“Not this time,” Stiles mutters, then he takes a steadying breath. “I’m sorry what I did to you. I’m not sorry about what happened to him.”

“Maybe, uh-“ Scott starts pulling away, further and further. This time Stiles won’t ask him for forgiveness. “Maybe you should talk to your dad- and your pack.” He shoots a quick glance at Theo, then looks at Liam. It’s almost as if he is expecting something to happen; it’s almost like Scott is expecting Liam to turn away from Stiles and leave with him.

Time stops again and Stiles squeezes Theo’s hand, anticipating dreadfully whatever decision Liam makes. Eventually, he takes his position beside Stiles. “I’m sorry,” he says. “But Stiles would do anything to protect us. You didn’t.”

Scott does his best to hide his disappointment but Stiles can feel it burn into his body. This is what the end feels like. This cut between them is irreversible. “Congratulations, Theo,” Scott says, “You finally got what you came for.”    


	22. The Beginning of Everything

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy moly. We did it. I actually finished a story after 22 chapters. A story that was supposed to end 19 chapters ago. :D Damn. That escalated.  
> I'm thinking about adding a series to it. But more the one-shot kind, you know? Small stories that happen after this main story. I've got a few idea but I'll see where it takes me. :)
> 
> THANKS to everyone who left kudos, comments and such. <3

“Oh no, you shift. _Now_.”

Stiles smirks as Theo clambers through the window. He looks slightly deflated, even for a wolf but tries to keep his dignity with his head held high. “Well, I told you so, didn’t I? I’m pretty sure I did.”

Brett points at Theo with a raised brow. “He’s naked when he shifts.” He doesn’t look too appalled by this particular circumstance, Stiles notices in amusement.

“What do I care?” John gestures around the room. “I’m not talking to a freaking wolf again.”

“And since I’m far-seeing,” Stiles says gleefully dropping his backpack on the floor in front of the chimera’s paws, “I brought clothes.”

Theo growls at him but he knows better than to resist any longer. Clearly annoyed, he snatches the backpack not particularly careful with his canines. It’s one of those moments which makes Stiles wonder, not for the first time, how the fuck he is supposed to deal with this since Theo doesn’t really react to any form of punishment. Maybe he should send him in time out. The idea of a doghouse on the balcony comes to mind. Theo would hate him. But it might get the message across.

Stiles rubs a hand over his face. “Introductions done?” He asks looking from Brett to John and back again.

“Yup,” Brett says, “Been here for a hot minute.”

“Yeah, sorry, we’re late by the way. I didn’t trust Theo with Isaac’s motorbike.”

Theo’s head pokes up from behind the desk. “Well, if someone didn’t smash my car into a wendigo,” he reminds him sharply. As it turned out, running Donovan over has caused more damage than only a broken windshield. Thank fuck, Theo is well insured and convinced the insurance company with some crazy story. Stiles didn’t ask but it apparently worked. Theo’ll get his car back this week – and it only took for fucking ever because the garage needed to order some parts, which have been delivered from godknowswhere. In the end, it took up to two weeks.

“Oh, shut up,” Stiles snaps eventually.  

John rolls his eyes. “Can the two of you please stop bickering. We’re here on official business.” He took the confession of Stiles and Theo killing Donovan a second time with composure. He even thanked Theo for ending it, and reminded Stiles that sometimes, in their line of work, self-defence wasn't always easy to deal with.

“Not really,” Brett chuckles in amusement, “I’m just here to tell you that Satomi agreed. She’s going to send out information about Stiles to the surrounding packs. They probably want to get to know you.”

Theo rises to his feet finally and throws the backpack back to Stiles. “You should have learned how to be nice to people close to you by then,” he says crossing his arms. His eyes flicker to John for a moment, who frowns at him.

“Oh, excuse me,” Stiles snaps already agitated again, “I know exactly how to do that.”

Brett nods absentminded. “Admittedly, he’s got a certain charm.”

Theo growls.

“See?” Stiles crosses his arms scowling at Theo. “ _That’s_ why I’m taking Lydia to these meetings. In case you’re still curious.” Stiles really can’t wait for the day Theo stops growling at people who are nice to him. It’s horrible; and it’s not going to help his situation at all.

“ _Boys_ ,” John warns. Stiles can literally see his father wondering which of his life-choices was the one that has gotten him into this exact situation.  “What about filling in the police departments?”

“Stiles thought about setting up some form of hotline,” Brett explains gesturing in his direction.

Theo crosses the room and takes his place at Stiles’ side, arms tightly crossed over his chest. If his bicep hasn’t been obvious before, it is now – yeah, he’s going to make an idiot out of himself. As if he’s got _any_ reason to be pissed off about Stiles and Brett interacting with each other. They literally met at Brett’s school once after Liam set up the meeting; and that was it. They didn’t even talk about anything else aside from the plan Lydia, Kira and Stiles have developed.  

He sighs. “Yeah, we want to inform the sheriffs and one or two deputies of their choosing, so that there is always someone in the know at the department.” Not too many people since they don’t want to risk the supernatural world to be exposed. There are enough movies that tell them what exactly would happen if people were to find out about werewolves, banshees and such. Gerard is another wonderful example.

“If they run into a strange case, they can call Satomi or Stiles,” Brett adds, “You, too, if you’d like, Sheriff.”

Stiles snorts. “He would need to read the Bestiary for that.”

John raises his hands in defeat. “I promise, I will – once you updated it with information about you, kiddo.” He’s always finding a way to postpone reading it. Every day another excuse. It gets seriously annoying.  

Theo flops down on the couch. “We’ve been working on it the whole night.” His fingers curl into the hem of Stiles’ shirt and he pulls him down. “But it’s a messy business.” Flailing a little, he flops down beside him but he generously ignores the confused glances he gets from Brett and his dad and decides to delay the inevitable talk about this kind of behaviour. Because _that_ is everything he can do in their current situation. Unless he will buy that doghouse for the balcony after all.

Stiles sighs. “I don’t have time to be your walking and talking encyclopaedia of weird shit.”  

Brett chuckles shaking his head. “I still need your phone number, Stiles.” Right. They’ve totally forgotten to exchange numbers the last time they met. Should’ve been the smart move. Especially, since they could’ve avoided Theo hearing about it. Although he doesn’t say anything, he tenses noticeably. “Satomi’ll give you a list, too,” Brett adds quickly, straightening suddenly, “so you can contact the other packs around.”

Stiles glances at Theo but he looks in a completely different direction than the one Brett is standing in. “Yeah, that’d be great.”

Brett is silent for a few moments. “It won’t be easy, y’know?” He says then shifting on his feet. “With you being young and no werewolf. If you need help during those meetings, you can call me and my sister.”

Stiles is glad he can get help outside of his pack and family. But he will be reluctant to take it. After all, he wants to be respected for who he is and not for the connections he has. “I’ll get back to that.”

Brett nods. “Good,” he says then but he is still somewhat uncomfortable; and Stiles is pretty sure that is thanks to whatever signals Theo sent him. “Tell Liam to text me your number.” Yup, it’s blatantly obvious that Theo did something stupid. “You need me for anything else?”

“No. We’re good,” Theo replies coolly without even so much as looking at Brett. This is how you don’t make good connections with new packs. It’s the first and last time Stiles will take Theo with him to meet werewolves or emissaries from other packs – at least, until he knows how to work around his jealous inclinations.

John nods as Brett leaves waving them almost awkwardly goodbye. But it doesn’t take long until his attention is back on Theo. Something Stiles isn’t too surprised about. It wasn’t that hard to notice that something went wrong a couple of seconds ago – and John sitting down on his desk, crossing his arms and frowning is an indicator that there will be a stern talk incoming. “How’s the therapy going?”

Theo squirms in his seat. “Okay-ish.”

“That’s not very detailed.” Right. Theo agreed to keep John in the loop about everything that is going on during his therapy. It was a deal they struck. Stiles isn’t quite sure what Theo gets in return for giving this particular information out. His father must’ve offered him something good considering that Theo is actually opening up about it. Last time someone other than Stiles asked him, he told them to fuck off and mind their own business.

“My psychiatrist is currently talking to me about the relationships during my childhood – before my sister died,” Theo answers honestly. Stiles knows it’s true because that’s what he was told yesterday as well. “That way she tries to reintroduce me to social structures.”

John raises a brow. “And that’s not working out too well?” That’s a not so subtle hint at the way he handled Brett a few moments ago.

Theo slumps a little in his seat. “The only connection to social life I had were Tara and Stiles.” He glances at John, then Stiles before quickly looking away again. Understandably, you don’t want to tell someone that you are kind of dependant on their son; especially not if they don’t like you and think about pre-emptively shooting you. “One is dead and the other keeps me on a distance for almost three weeks now,” Theo adds because _of course_ it’s not his fault that the therapy doesn’t go as quick as he would have preferred. “So, you can guess how that’s going.”

Stiles stares at him. “You’re blaming me now?”

“I’m just saying-“ Theo starts but Stiles doesn’t even let him finish his sentence.

“You’re still pissed about me being reasonable.” Stiles gets to his feet. He honestly doesn’t know if he is angry or hurt at the more or less subtle accusation.

“Stiles, calm down,” John says – and that doesn’t help at all. His father is annoyed with Theo all the goddamn time and now he tells _him_ to calm down? For all the moments in which he could have possibly said something like that, this is by far one of the worst choices. He doesn’t even know the whole fucking story.

Theo seems more defiant than bothered. “So? What if I am?”

“Fuck you, Theo,” Stiles spits. He is so not putting up with that shit. Everybody tells him to be nice to Theo, to give him a chance because, after all, he is trying so hard – nobody thinks about letting Stiles sort out his feelings or at least sort out his feelings in relation to the fricking terrifying cliff in-between their two standpoints. Like, Theo made pretty clear that he’s being worryingly obsessive and possessive still – case in point: Brett – as well as that he is very much in love with Stiles. While Stiles is- he likes Theo a lot. He is attracted to Theo. He wants to be more than friends with him. He will go so far as to say that he has a crush on Theo.

But love?

No. Not yet.

But people tend to think he doesn’t know the difference between crushing on someone and being in love with someone; just because he had acted like a High Schooler with a psychotic breakdown while he had been running after Lydia. Nobody realised that it was just that, an _act_. Why did he act? Because he is fucking terrified of falling in love. He’s seen what losing a love like that could do to someone like his father. That doesn't mean he never had a crush on Lydia. But it was soft, sweet - he wanted to care for her, he wanted to her to feel good, for her to be the person she really is. 

“Fuck you,” he repeats for good measure and finally allows himself to storm out of his father's office. 

“Stiles!” Theo calls after him. “Stiles, _wait_!”

 

“Sweetheart,” Lydia says from where she sits at the table, “those onions haven’t hurt your feelings.”

Well, Stiles might be letting his aggression out on those poor onions. Of course, that doesn’t happen because he is on kitchen duty and slightly annoyed that Lydia and Kira are searching for a better place to live instead of helping him. He is still pissed about Theo’s fucking attitude and his dad telling him to calm down – and that happened a couple of hours ago. “Nobody hurt my feelings,” he replies gnashing his teeth.

Kira taps the pen against the wooden table. “You’re still mad at Theo for holding a grudge against you because you dumped him.”

Stiles barely resists slamming the knife on the counter. “I didn’t dump him.”

“That’s up to definition,” Lydia says pointing at something on the desktop. Kira nods.  

“Whose best friend are you?” Stiles asks throwing the diced onions into the container, then drops two aubergines onto the cutting board as if they are the reason for his fool mood. 

“Yours, Stiles,” Lydia tells him indignantly. Good, now he’s pissing her off. This day needs to end. “I know what’s going on inside you.” She does indeed. They had a very long and very in depth talk about why exactly Stiles is hesitant about entering any kind of romantic relationship – and why he has always been more friends than partners with Malia. But Malia didn’t have a clue how exactly a proper relationship should be like. Theo, on the other hand, does even if it doesn’t seem like it in the first place. Well, or maybe he knows in theory what having a relationship should entail.

Kira cocks her head smiling faintly. “He’s good to you.”

Stiles scoffs cutting into the aubergine spitefully. So much for his hopeful mood. “He blames me for his therapy not working out,” he explains, “Morrell saw him three times a week for not even a month now. What does he expect? Faith healing?”

“It sure would help both of you if you weren’t suddenly fleeing his proximity,” Lydia points out. Well, fleeing is a very harsh word. But he kept his distance and tried his hardest not to be alone with Theo for too long or at all. Luckily, the last three weeks have been crazily busy since Stiles and Lydia not only had to get things in order with their university and professors, they are also viewing flats and houses and work to get this supernatural emergency office in order – or whatever. They don’t really have a name for it, yet. But they are going to be hunters of some sort, which means that Stiles needed to contact Chris Argent, too, because his dad didn’t plan on teaching him how to handle a weapon. Jordan doesn’t either but he agreed to teach Stiles in CQC.  

Stiles licks his lips. “I’m not fleeing anybody’s proximity.” At least not all the time.  

Kira sighs. “The only reason the two of you went alone to your dad is because he basically forced himself on you.”

“Shifted,” Lydia adds.

Stiles isn’t really in the mood to continue this talk. “Can you two go back to looking for a better place to stay?”

Liam barges into the room, startling all three of them. That kid needs to be reintroduced to the concept of knocking. “What’s for dinner?” He rejoices.

Stiles squints at him. He hasn’t seen the guy that happy in quite some time. But after Stiles, Lydia and Kira have declared that they are staying in Beacon Hills despite their studies, he somewhat flourished. He is finally more teenager than werewolf again, happy and balanced. It feels nice to be part of the reason for that. Although he is very aware that the strained relationship to his former alpha bothers Liam; no matter how often he told Stiles that it was actually him who turned him since without Stiles, Scott wouldn’t have been an alpha in the first place.

Which, true. But, no.

“Homework, then food,” Stiles shoots back as an answer.

Liam pouts. “That’s unfair!”

“It’s not,” Stiles replies as Isaac joins him in the kitchenette dropping a bag on the counter. Since Stiles has no clue how to prepare meat properly – and he honestly doesn’t bother to learn how to do so since he’s not going to eat it anyway – Isaac’s cooking skills have surfaced. John was almost depressed as Isaac declared his moving out. “Where’s Theo?” He adds almost as an afterthought. The plan was that Isaac would pick up Liam and Mason from the gym, then Theo from his therapy session. The latter not being here is slightly alarming. Especially after their fight this midday.  

“He said we don’t have to pick him up,” Isaac answers reluctantly.

“Yeah, he needed to do something,” Mason adds.

Stiles stares at them. “And you just _let him_?” It’s not that he thinks Theo needs to be babysat all the time but he feels better if someone from the pack is with him. Okay, maybe he wants Theo to be babysat all the time – for the sole reason of knowing that he stays out of trouble and away from stupid ideas and terrible influences. Also, he is slightly worried as to what might happen when he meets Malia. They will, inevitably, see each other again, Beacon Hills isn’t that huge, but Stiles would prefer that happens with someone who can supervise the whole thing. There are enough people around who just wait for Theo to fuck up so they can send him on his merry way.

“I didn’t give them much of a choice.” Theo slides the door shut behind him.

“Where have you been?” Stiles drops the knife on the counter, so he wouldn’t accidentally point with it at someone.

Theo pulls something out of the pocket of his jeans that looks frighteningly like ring box. “Catch,” he says and it’s the only warning Stiles gets. Although clumsily, he manages to catch it without dropping it. “See it as an apology, I guess.” _I guess_. Wow.

The loft has gone terrifyingly quiet while Stiles inspects the box a little closer. It’s not a ring box. Or, well, at least he thinks it isn’t – and he honestly doubts Theo would pull a stunt like that in a time like this. They aren’t even properly dating. They haven’t had a proper conversation about wherever they are staying right now because Stiles feels like hyperventilating every time he thinks about it. He knows he needs to get over it eventually but it’s hard. Because he knows this will be different from what he had with Malia. It will be _more_. Glancing at Theo, who leans against the counter opposite Stiles seemingly patiently waiting, he opens the box. “What the-“ Inside the box, embedded on a red cushion, is the pendant of a triskelion he knows all too well. It’s Derek’s tattoo; the symbol Talia Hale had used to teach the young children control.

“Liam told me what it means to him,” Theo explains as Stiles pulls the necklace out of the box, “and I did my fair share of research. I thought it might fit considering what you are.”

Stiles opens his mouth, then closes it. He is honestly at a loss for words. “You planned this?” He asks eventually because the words _thank you_ just won’t slip past his lips.

“It’s an acknowledgement of my gratitude.” Well, Theo couldn’t have phrased that any more formal than he just did. “Since you decided to keep me.”

“Gave you a chance, you mean.”

Theo blinks at him. “Yeah, that.”

“You’re so weird, pal.”

“Isaac,” Stiles warns putting the necklace on. It’s heavy and feels slightly weird. He’s never been a guy for jewellery but this seems fitting, in some way, just like Theo has said. It fits him. It’s part of him. It’s part of all of them. As much as Stiles wants to implement Allison’s code into his pack and what it stands for, this should be part of them as well. The Hales are what created this pack in the first place. Peter turned Lydia and Scott, who turned Liam. Derek turned Isaac. Stiles has been his emissary; he woke up because of Derek. This is a part of their history none of them can deny – and that Theo understands and respects it, means a lot to Stiles.

“Fuck you, man,” Theo hisses.

Stiles shoves the pendant underneath his shirt. “Can you actually keep your shit together for once, guys? Seriously.”

Lydia clicks her tongue.

Kira rolls her eyes. “Living with you will be fun.”

“Why can’t _we_ live with you?” Liam whines.

Oh god, they’ve already had this discussion what feels like a million times. “Because you’re jailbait.”

“That’s so unfair!”

Theo snatches the knife Stiles’ dropped and continues to slice the aubergine. “It’s not even two years,” he tells him, “Be patient.”

“We’re going to miss out on all the fun,” Mason complains.

Stiles sits down beside Lydia groaning audibly. Please, not Mason as well. He cannot handle two obnoxious teenagers trying to convince him to live with them. Although Mason’s parents have taken the news about the supernatural being a real thing far better than Mr. Dunbar has, Stiles doubts either of the families will allow their underage sons to live with a group of eighteen-to-nineteen-year-olds pursuing a career in hunting said supernatural creatures. Stiles sure as hell wouldn’t.

“Define fun,” Lydia requests pulling the pendant out again to inspect the triskelion a little closer.

“Stiles teaching Theo how to human, for example,” Liam answers without missing a beat.

Theo scoffs. “I do not have to put up with that shit.”

Stiles doesn’t like that Liam continuously brings this particularly topic up. But he has a point. “How do you feel about Tracy and Josh?” He asks. Reintroducing social structures aside, Theo still needs to learn that killing people is a last resort and that it should leave a mark on somebody; or that he at least should feel bad about it. But he hasn’t come that far yet.

“How do I feel about them?” Theo wonders, his eyes widening ever so slightly. Honest and open confusion crosses over his face, mixing with something akin to panic. He knows he won’t be able to answer the question to Stiles’ satisfaction. It’s a step in the right direction; that he knows what he thinks about the topic is wrong. “I put them back where I found them.” But he has no clue what would be right.

Stiles sighs exchanging a quick glance with Lydia. “You have to put up with that shit.”

“Remorseful would’ve been the correct answer,” Liam offers.

Kira nods. “Or guilty.”

“Horrible,” Isaac adds to the list while he is cutting into the meat.

Mason scratches the back of his head. “Regretful.”

Theo narrows his eyes at Liam. “I think I get the hint,” he snarls before turning back to his work on the vegetables.

“See?” Liam smirks at Stiles. “We can help, too.”

“Homework.”

“But it’s _Friday_!”

Stiles is tempted to throw Kira's pen at Liam to get the message across. “ _Homework_.”

Mason drops the schoolbook onto his best friend’s head. “By the way,” he says ignoring Liam slapping at him, “Corey wants to come over for dinner.”

Stiles raises a brow. “So?”

Mason glances at Lydia. “It’s pack dinner. I thought I ask at least.”

“You think I’ll say no? He’s your boyfriend,” Stiles replies. Also, Corey is actually pretty down with the whole thing. He isn’t too fond of Scott since he had rammed his claws into the back of his neck. He isn’t particularly fond of Theo either but since Stiles is the alpha, and Stiles had made clear what he thinks about tapping into people’s mind without consent, Corey has been warming up to him; and he and Mason are so in love with each other it’s almost disgusting. “When’s Jordan coming?”

Isaac checks the watch on the oven. “I’ll pick him up at six-thirty.”

Stiles snatches the triskelion from Lydia’s fingers. “Then pick up Corey, too.”

“Do I look like a taxi?”

Lydia smirks at him. “You’re driving Stiles’ and my car. We should be asking that question.” True story. Although it’s more Lydia’s than his car. She paid two-thirds and Stiles the rest because he could only spare the money he had gotten from the guy who had salvaged his jeep. It was more than he expected but not as much as he hoped for.

Stiles glances at Theo who is already looking back at him. With a small smile, Stiles curls his fingers protectively around the pendant. Theo smirks.

 

“You avoided being alone in a room with me for three weeks and now we’re breaking into the library?” Theo asks following him upstairs.

Stiles twirls a sharpie between his fingers. “We’re not breaking into the library.”

“Neither of us has a card to enter.”

“I borrowed Liam’s.”

Theo huffs out a breath. “Okay, so we didn’t break into the library. You’re still alone with me without running away. That’s impressive.”

Stiles decides not to say anything to that. Not only because he isn’t quite sure what he is supposed to answer in the first place. They all know he’s been running away. But it wasn’t Theo he is running away from. He stops in front of the targeted bookshelf and starts pulling books out of it, piling them onto the small table.

Theo watches him. Stiles can feel the raised brow drilling into the back of his neck. “No quip about it?” He asks clear amusement lining his voice. “Did I hit a nerve? Because that’s when you get silent.” Really? Why does this idiot already know him so well? It’s scary.

Then again, he’s gotten one thing wrong. “Ever thought about the fact that I might not be running away from _you_?” Because he isn’t. Not really.

“What?”

Stiles bristles. “Forget it.” He doesn’t want to talk about it with Theo, not now. Sometime later maybe.

“Fine.” Either Theo realises and accepts his reluctance about going into depth with this topic or he doesn’t bother. “What are you even doing?”

Stiles glances at him over his shoulder. “Senior scribe,” he answers then.

“We broke into the library so I can write my initials on a shelf?”

“Yeah.” Although the senior scribe will be repeated once the new school year starts, Theo technically should’ve done that together with Stiles. Also, they are still considering home-schooling as a possibility since Theo made abundantly clear that he isn’t going to let Stiles leave on a case involving supernatural killers without him. And, let’s be honest, Stiles would feel a lot safer with Theo around. “What?” He asks frowning at the chimera. “What are you smirking at?”

“You,” Theo replies putting a hand on the shelf behind Stiles.

“Why?” He asks squinting at him.

Theo puts his other hand on the shelf, too, caging Stiles in. “I thought were not dating.”

Okay, so Stiles isn’t the only one who noticed the slightly date-ish atmosphere although he tries his hardest to make it look like nothing more than what it actually was supposed to be; a normal activity normal High Schoolers are doing in Beacon Hills. “We’re not,” he agrees eventually although slightly sceptical. Can they be on a date although none of the participants labelled it as such?

Theo cocks his head, still smirking. “Why did you tell Brett you can’t go on a date with him then?”

Multiple reasons. Because he isn’t interested in Brett. Because he is actually very much interested in Theo and doesn’t care about anybody else hitting on him. Because he- “Wait, did you read my text messages?” Stiles pushes the sharpie against his collarbone, pushing him away.  

Theo follows the not so subtle hint. “What if I did?”

Okay, the lack of confusion is slightly disconcerting. “Because that’s wrong behaviour, Theo,” Stiles says. He hates being a teacher. He hates it _so_ fucking much. “That’s not how it works.”

“So, we are dating again?”

 _Oh my god_. “You don’t read text messages from other people. Neither friends, nor potential partners. It’s got something to do with trust.” Stiles jabs the sharpie against Theo’s chest again. “You need to trust me completely if you want to start dating me. I can’t have you willy-nilly snapping at people just because they look at me in a way you don’t like.” Nodding along to his words, Theo snatches the sharpie from Stiles’ hands – like he isn’t even listening to what he says. “It’ll be easier for everyone involved-“ Everyone involved being Stiles- “if you at least try to be a normal member of the pack who doesn’t react haphazardly to normal, everyday things.” Member of the pack meaning potential future person to date.

Theo writes his initials close to Stiles’. “Normal, everyday things, huh?”

“Yes.” Stiles squints at him, doubting that he actually got the point.  

“Me asking you to grab something to eat, would that be considered a normal everyday thing?”

“Are you asking me out on a date?”

“It’s what people do when they like each other, isn’t it?” Oh god, it’s almost adorable how he draws his eyebrows in as if he isn’t quite sure he drew the correct conclusions.

“Yeah,” Stiles agrees although that isn’t at all what he intended to tell Theo, “it’s what they do.”

“So? Are you going on a date with me?”

This is the moment of truth, then. A yes would change everything. Stiles would need to confront is own fears, his own worries and doubts. But he would get what he undoubtedly wants. It’s not that he hasn’t imagined how it could be when he gives in. More than one night he thought about slipping under Theo’s blanket and curling up beside him. But doing that would mean giving in; and that’s what he is still scared about.

A no would change everything, too. Maybe it would change their relationship irrevocably. It could lead to losing Theo – and no matter how scared he is of opening up, of giving his all to a person even more damaged than he is, Stiles is not ready to lose him; at least not without giving him a real chance. But some things have to be said before they are going to start. Theo needs to be aware of where the two of them are standing before they start to build up a path to meet in the middle. “You know I don’t feel the same way about you, right?” Stiles starts rubbing the back of his head, “I mean, I like you and I find you ridiculously attractive but-“ He frowns- “stop smirking. Why are you smirking?”

Theo shrugs. “I can work with that.”

Stiles doesn’t quite trust the easiness with which his words are accepted. “You’ll let me set the pace then?”

“Yes.”

Stiles squints at him. “No more reading my text messages?” He asks, “No more acting out when someone gives me a compliment?”

“I’ll try,” Theo replies narrowing his eyes.

Stiles sighs. “ _Theo_.”

“I promise, I’ll try?”

“Oh my god.”

Theo grabs his wrist. “I’ll be good.”

Stiles closes his eyes for a moment.  “I don’t want you to be good,” he mutters, “I want you to be healthy – and I want you to be healthy because you want to be healthy.”  

Theo slides his hand down and intertwines their fingers, squeezing slightly. “I would prefer not to have any more nightmares.” His voice is soft and quiet. A whispered promise of a better future. Theo wants to get better. It’s not just words he says because Stiles wants to hear them. It’s not just an empty reply because he wants to get into Stiles’ pants again.

They look at each other, just look at each other. Something shifts. Something moves into place between them; something settled that couldn’t have with any amount of words – and Stiles is terrible with words anyway. He leans in, slowly, preparing himself for what’s to come. They might have kissed before but somehow, someway this is completely different. Theo edges closer, too, just as slow as Stiles does. No rushing this time, no hasty decisions. They are on the same page now. They are-

His phone destroys the quiet of the library.

Stiles flinches. “Holy fuck.” He fumbles for his phone ignoring Theo’s frown. “Hello?” The caller ID showed him an unknown number. He wonders who might be calling him this late.

“Am I talking to Stiles Stilinski?” It’s a middle aged man, apparently.

Theo raises a brow clearly listening in.

Stiles licks his lips.  “Yeah, who is this?”

“I’m Sheriff O'Donovan. I'm sorry for calling this late but your father told me I should contact you if something weird is going on in my town.” Holy crap. It’s not even been three days since they set everything up and there is already someone calling about possible supernatural shenanigans in their town?

Stiles runs his free hand through his hair. “That’s right,” he replies then. “Send me everything you have on the case. We'll check it out. I’ll call you back first thing in the morning.” Because Stiles knows that O'Donovan will never be able to put into words what’s really going on. Stiles witnessed his own father crouching over unsolved case files because of a hunch he couldn’t explain.

“Thank you,” O’Donovan says hanging up only a moment later.

“That was quick,” Theo noted.

Stiles looks at his phone with a frown. “Welcome to the first day of your new life.” It has officially started. They are hunters now. Whether this case has supernatural involvement or not, their job has officially begun. It’s a lot of responsibility for someone as young as they are. But they have been handling things like that since they are sixteen. Who could be better prepared for what’s to come than they are?

Theo pulls a face. “Not sure I’m going to be a fan of it.”

No surprise there. Of all the moments O'Donovan could have called him, he decided to do it the second Stiles is ready to give in. This is either someone telling him to think it over a second time or a huge test of patience. “Hey.” Stiles goes with the latter. He’s ready to tackle a case with a probably murderous supernatural creature. Why should he be afraid of something completely natural? “You want to go see a movie? There’s one or two late night shows. I think we might catch the second.”

Theo shrugs. The hopelessness in his face is almost insulting. “Depends on how exactly you want to treat-“

“It’s a Sunday night,” Stiles decides it’s time for less subtlety. “The cinema hall will most likely be empty.” And the late night shows on a Sunday are mostly crappy movies from the eighties. “If two people who like each other go there to be alone for a little longer. How’d you call that?”

Stiles notices the smirk in Theo’s eyes before it reaches his lips. “What are they going to do there?”

“Don’t know,” Stiles admits running his free hand up and down Theo’s side. “Perhaps something they can’t do in their werewolf infiltrated home.”

Theo steps into Stiles personal space again. “I’d call that justifiable public indecency.”

Stiles breathes out a laugh. “You’re an idiot.”

But Theo simply grins. “I like your idea of a date better,” he admits then standing close enough again that his words ghost over Stiles’ skin, “I'd have treated you for breakfast.”

“You can do that anyway because I probably need to pull an all-nighter.”

Theo frowns ever so slightly. Again Stiles wants to smooth out the lines between his eyes. “Or we can postpone the movie night,” Theo proposes eventually, “and count this as our first date instead. You’ve got work to do.”

Stiles raises a brow. “That’s oddly thoughtful of you.” It’s not like he wouldn’t be able to handle a movie night before he'll dive into case work – but Theo’s idea might be more beneficial in terms of caffeine intake.

“What do you say?”

“I’d say yes if that’s okay with you.”

Theo brushes his nose against his cheekbone and Stiles closes his eyes, leaning further against the bookshelf behind him. It’s not the most comfortable position in the whole world but with Theo directly in front of him, bodies lining up from head to toe, he can live with wood digging into his back. “It is,” Theo whispers.

Stiles shudders. “Thanks.”

A soundless chuckle ripples through Theo’s body. “Anything for you.”

Stiles smiles as Theo finally presses their lips together. It’s not perfect. It’ll probably never be. But they are going to make it work somehow; that much he knows.


End file.
